THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OFCA1      ^TT\ 


GIFT  OF 

FREDERIC  THOMAS  BLANCHARD 

FOR  THE 
ENGLISH  READING  ROOM 


THORNF1ELD     EDITION 
ILLUSTRATED 


LIFE   AND  WORKS   OF 

THE    SISTERS     BRONTE 

WITH   PREFACES  BY 

MRS.    HUMPHRY    WARD 

AND  AN   INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES 

TO  THE  LIFE  BY 
CLEMENT   K.  SHORTER 


IN  SEVEN   VOLUMES 
VOLUME   VI 

THE   TENANT  OF  W1LDFELL  HALL 


ANNE     BRONTE 


FROM     A      DRAWING     BY     CHARLOTTE     BRONTE.     IN 
THE    POSSESSION    OF    THE     REV.    A.    B.     NICHOLLS 


THORNFIELD     EDITION 

THE  TENANT  OF 
WILDFELL  HALL 


BY 

ANNE      BRONTE 

(ACTON    BELL) 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION   BY 

MRS.   HUMPHRY  WARD 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH 
PORTRAITS  AND  VIEWS 


HARPER  6-  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


Copyright,  1900,  by  MART  A.  WARD. 

All  rig/Ut  retmed. 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


PORTRAIT  OF  ANNE  BRONTE Frontispiece 

FACSIMILE  OF  THE  TITLE-PAGE  OF  THE  FIRST  EDITION 

OF   '  WlLDFELL   HALL  ' p.  XXV 

The  following  Illustrations  are  reproduced  from  photographs 
taken  by  Mr.  W.  R.  Bland,  of  Duffield,  Derby,  in  conjunction 
with  Mr.  C.  Barrow  Keene,  of  Derby  : 

MOORLAND  SCENE,  HAWORTH To  face  p.  14 

„              „               „          (with  water)  „           46 

„              „               „          (with  cottage)     .         .  „         100 

BLAKE  HALL  (GRASSDALE  MANOR)  : 

THE  APPROACH „         206 

FRONT         ..,,,..  ,,222 

SIDE  286 


INTRODUCTION 


ANNE  BRONTE  serves  a  twofold  purpose  in  the  study 
of  what  the  Brontes  wrote  and  were.  In  the  first 
place,  her  gentle  and  delicate  presence,  her  sad,  short 
story,  her  hard  life  and  early  death,  enter  deeply  into 
the  poetry  and  tragedy  that  have  always  been  en- 
twined with  the  memory  of  the  Brontes,  as  women 
and  as  writers  ;  in  the  second,  the  books  and  poems  that 
she  wrote  serve  as  matter  of  comparison  by  which  to 
test  the  greatness  of  her  two  sisters.  She  is  the  meas- 
ure of  their  genius — like  them,  yet  not  with  them. 

Many  years  after  Anne's  death  her  brother-in-law 
protested  against  a  supposed  portrait  of  her,  as  giving  a 
totally  wrong  impression  of  the  '  dear,  gentle,  Anne 
Bronte.'  '  Dear '  and  '  gentle  '  indeed  she  seems  to  have 
been  through  life,  the  youngest  and  prettiest  of  the 
sisters,  with  a  dejjcate  complexion,  a  slender  neck,  and 
small,  pleasant  features.  Notwithstanding,she  possessed 
in  full  the  Bronte  seriousness,  the  Bronte  strength  of 
will.  When  her  father  asked  her  at  four  years  old 
what  a  little  child  like  her  wanted  most,  the  tiny 
creature  replied — if  it  were  not  a  Bronte  it  would  be 
incredible  ! — '  Age  and  experience.'  When  the  three 
children  started  their  'Island  Plays'  together  in  1827, 


x          THE  TENANT  OF  WILDFELL  HALL 

Anne,  who  was  then  eight,  chose  Guernsey  for  her 
imaginary  island,  and  peopled  it  with  '  Michael  Sadler, 
Lord  Bentinck,  and  Sir  Henry  Halford.'  She  and 
Emily  were  constant  companions,  and  there  is  evidence 
that  they  shared  a  common  world  of  fancy  from  very 
early  days  to  mature  womanhood.  'The  Gondal 
Chronicles '  seem  to  have  amused  them  for  many  years, 
and  to  have  branched  out  into  innumerable  books, 
written  in  the  'tiny  writing'  of  which  Mr.  Clement 
Shorter  has  given  us  facsimiles.  '  I  am  now  engaged 
in  writing  the  fourth  volume  of  Solala  Vernon's  Life,' 
says  Anne  at  twenty-one.  And  four  years  later  Emily 
says,  '  The  Gondals  still  flourish  bright  as  ever.  I  am 
at  present  writing  a  work  on  the  First  War.  Anne  has 
been  writing  some  articles  on  this  and  a  book  by  Henry 
Sophona.  "We  intend  sticking  firm  by  the  rascals  as 
long  as  they  delight  us,  which  I  am  glad  to  say  they 
do  at  present.' 

That  the  author  of  'Wildfell  Hall'  should  ever 
have  delighted  in  the  Gondals,  should  ever  have  written 
the  story  of  Solala  Vernon  or  Henry  Sophona,  is 
pleasant  to  know.  Then,  for  her  too,  as  for  her  sisters 
there  was  a  moment  when  the  power  of  '  making  out ' 
could  turn  loneliness  and  disappointment  into  riches 
and  content.  For  a  time  at  least,  and  before  a  hard 
and  degrading  experience  had  broken  the  spring  of  her 
youth,  and  replaced  the  disinterested  and  spontaneous 
pleasure  that  is  to  be  got  from  the  life  and  play  of 
imagination,  by  a  sad  sense  of  duty,  and  an  inexorable 
consciousness  of  moral  and  religious  mission,  Anne 
Bronte  wrote  stories  for  her  own  amusement,  and 
loved  the  '  rascals '  she  created. 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

But  already  in  1841,  when  we  first  hear  of  the  Gon- 
dals  and  Solala  Yernon,  the  material  for  quite  other 
books  was  in  poor  Anne's  mind.  She  was  then  teach- 
ing in  the  family  at  Thorpe  Green,  where  Branwell 
joined  her  as  tutor  in  1843,  and  where,  owing  to  events 
that  are  still  a  mystery,  she  seems  to  have  passed 
through  an  ordeal  that  left  her  shattered  in  health  and 
nerve,  with  nothing  gained  but  those  melancholy  and 
repulsive  memories  that  she  was  afterwards  to  embody 
in  '  Wildfell  Hall.'  She  seems,  indeed,  to  have  been 
partly  the  victim  of  Branwell's  morbid  imagination, 
the  imagination  of  an  opium-eater  and  a  drunkard. 
That  he  was  neither  the  conqueror  nor  the  villain  that 
he  made  his  sisters  believe,  all  the  evidence  that  has 
been  gathered  since  Mrs.  Gaskell  wrote  goes  to  show. 
But  poor  Anne  believed  his  account  of  himself,  and  no 
doubt  saw  enough  evidence  of  vicious  character  in 
Branwell's  daily  life  to  make  the  worst  enormities 
credible.  She  seems  to  have  passed  the  last  months 
of  her  stay  at  Thorpe  Green  under  a  cloud  of  dread 
and  miserable  suspicion,  and  was  thankful  to  escape 
from  her  situation  in  the  summer  of  1845.  At  the 
same  moment  Branwell  was  summarily  dismissed  from 
his  tutorship,  his  employer,  Mr.  Robinson,  writing  a 
stern  letter  of  complaint  to  Branwell's  father,  concerned 
no  doubt  with  the  young  man's  disorderly  and  intem- 
perate habits.  Mrs.  Gaskell  says :  '  The  premature 
deaths  of  two  at  least  of  the  sisters — all  the  great  pos- 
sibilities of  their  earthly  lives  snapped  short — may  be 
dated  from  Midsummer  1845.'  The  facts  as  we  now 
know  them  hardly  bear  out  so  strong  a  judgment. 
There  is  nothing  to  show  that  Branwell's  conduct  was 


xii       THE  TENANT    OF   WILDFELL  HALL 

responsible  in  any  way  for  Emily's  illness  and  death, 
and  Anne,  in  the  contemporary  fragment  recovered  by 
Mr.  Shorter,  gives  a  less  tragic  account  of  the  matter. 
'During  my  stay  (at  Thorpe  Green),'  she  writes  on 
July  31,  1845,  '  I  have  had  some  very  unpleasant  and 
undreamt-of  experience  of  human  nature.  .  .  .  Bran- 
well  has  .  .  .  been  a  tutor  at  Thorpe  Green,  and  had 
much  tribulation  and  ill-health.  .  .  .  We  hope  he  will 
be  better  and  do  better  in  future.'  And  at  the  end  of 
the  paper  she  says,  sadly,  forecasting  the  coming 
years, '  I  for  ray  part  cannot  well  be  flatter  or  older  in 
mind  than  I  am  now.'  This  is  the  language  of  disap- 
pointment and  anxiety ;  but  it  hardly  fits  the  tragic 
story  that  Mrs.  Gaskell  believed. 

That  story  was,  no  doubt,  the  elaboration  of  Bran- 
well's  diseased  fancy  during  the  three  years  which 
elapsed  between  his  dismissal  from  Thorpe  Green  and 
his  death.  He  imagined  a  guilty  romance  with  himself 
and  his  employer's  wife  for  characters,  and  he  imposed 
the  horrid  story  upon  his  sisters.  Opium  and  drink  are 
the  sufficient  explanations ;  and  no  time  need  now  be 
wasted  upon  unravelling  the  sordid  mystery.  But  the 
vices  of  the  brother,  real  or  imaginary,  have  a  certain 
importance  in  literature,  because  of  the  effect  they  pro- 
duced upon  his  sisters.  There  can  be  no  question  that 
Branwell's  opium  madness,  his  bouts  of  drunkenness  at 
the  Black  Bull,  his  violence  at  home,  his  free  and  coarse 
talk,  and  his  perpetual  boast  of  guilty  secrets,  influenced 
the  imagination  of  his  wholly  pure  and  inexperienced 
sisters.  Much  of  '  Wuthering  Heights,'  and  all  of 
'  Wildfell  Hall,'  show  Branwell's  mark,  and  there  are 
many  passages  in  Charlotte's  books  also,  where  those 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

who  know  the  history  of  the  parsonage  can  hear  the 
voice  of  those  sharp  moral  repulsions,  those  dismal 
moral  questionings,  to  which  Branwell's  misconduct 
and  ruin  gave  rise.  Their  brother's  fate  was  an  ele- 
ment in  the  genius  of  Emily  and  Charlotte  which  they 
were  strong  enough  to  assimilate,  which  may  have 
done  them  some  harm,  and  weakened  in  them  certain 
delicate  or  sane  perceptions,  but  was  ultimately,  by 
the  strange  alchemy  of  talent,  far  more  profitable  than 
hurtful,  inasmuch  as  it  troubled  the  waters  of  the  soul, 
and  brought  them  near  to  the  more  desperate  realities 
of  our  '  frail,  fall'n  humankind.' 

But  Anne  was  not  strong  enough,  her  gift  was  not 
vigorous  enough,  to  enable  her  thus  to  transmute  ex- 
perience and  grief.  The  probability  is  that  when  she 
left  Thorpe  Green  in  1845  she  was  already  suffering 
from  that  religious  melancholy  of  which  Charlotte  dis- 
covered such  piteous  evidence  among  her  papers  after 
death.  It  did  not  much  affect  the  writing  of  '  Agnes 
Grey,'  which  was  completed  in  1846,  and  reflected  the 
minor  pains  and  discomforts  of  her  teaching  experience, 
but  it  combined  with  the  spectacle  of  Branwell's  in- 
creasing moral  and  physical  decay  to  produce  that  bit- 
ter mandate  of  conscience  under  which  she  wrote  '  The 
Tenant  of  Wildfell  Hall.' 

'  Hers  was  naturally  a  sensitive,  reserved,  and  de- 
jected nature.  She  hated  her  work,  but  would  pursue 
it.  It  was  written  as  a  warning,' — so  said  Charlotte 
when,  in  the  pathetic  Preface  of  1850,  she  was  endeav- 
ouring to  explain  to  the  public  how  a  creature  so  gentle 
and  so  good  as  Acton  Bell  should  have  written  such  a 
book  as  '  Wildfell  Hall.'  And  in  the  second  edition  of 


xiv      THE  TENANT   OF   WILDFELL   HALL 

'Wildfell  Hall'  which  appeared  in  1848  Anne  Bronte 
herself  justified  her  novel  in  a  Preface  which  is  re- 
printed in  this  volume  for  the  first  time.  The  little 
preface  is  a  curious  document.  It  has  the  same  deter- 
mined didactic  tone  which  pervades  the  book  itself, 
the  same  narrowness  of  view,  and  inflation  of  ex- 
pression, an  inflation  which  is  really  due  not  to  any 
personal  egotism  in  the  writer,  but  rather  to  that  very 
gentleness  and  inexperience  which  must  yet  nerve  itself 
under  the  stimulus  of  religion  to  its  disagreeable  and 
repulsive  task.  'I  knew  that  such  characters'  —  as 
Huntingdon  and  his  companions — '  do  exist,  and  if  I 
have  warned  one  rash  youth  from  following  in  their 
steps  the  book  has  not  been  written  in  vain.'  If  the 
story  has  given  more  pain  than  pleasure  to  l  any  hon- 
est reader,'  the  writer  '  craves  his  pardon,  for  such  was 
far  from  my  intention.'  But  at  the  same  time  she 
cannot  promise  to  limit  her  ambition  to  the  giving  of 
innocent  pleasure,  or  to  the  production  of  'a  perfect 
work  of  art.'  '  Time  and  talent  so  spent  I  should  con- 
sider wasted  and  misapplied.'  God  has  given  her  un- 
palatable truths  to  speak  and  she  must  speak  them. 

The  measure  of  misconstruction  and  abuse  therefore 
which  her  book  brought  upon  her  she  bore,  says  her 
sister, '  as  it  was  her  custom  to  bear  whatever  was  un- 
pleasant, with  mild,  steady  patience.  She  was  a  very 
sincere  and  practical  Christian,  but  the  tinge  of  relig- 
ious melancholy  communicated  a  sad  shade  to  her  brief, 
blameless  life.' 

In  spite  of  misconstruction  and  abuse,  however, 
'WildfellHall'  seems  to  have  attained  more  immediate 
success  than  anything  else  written  by  the  sisters  before 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

1848,  except '  Jane  Eyre.'  It  went  into  a  second  edition 
within  a  very  short  time  of  its  publication,  and  Messrs. 
Newby  informed  the  American  publishers  with  whom 
they  were  negotiating  that  it  was  the  work  of  the  same 
hand  which  had  produced  'Jane  Eyre,'  and  superior  to 
either  '  Jane  Eyre '  or  '  "Wuthering  Heights ' !  It  was, 
indeed,  the  sharp  practice  connected  with  this  astonish- 
ing judgment  which  led  to  the  sisters'  hurried  journey 
to  London  in  1848 — the  famous  journey  when  the  two 
little  ladies  in  black  revealed  themselves  to  Mr.  Smith, 
and  proved  to  him  that  they  were  not  one  Currer  Bell, 
but  two  Miss  Brontes.  It  was  Anne's  sole  journey  to 
London — her  only  contact  with  a  world  that  was  not 
Haworth,  except  that  supplied  by  her  school -life  at 
Roehead  and  her  two  teaching  engagements. 

And  there  was  and  is  a  considerable  narrative  ability, 
a  sheer  moral  energy  in  '  Wildfell  Hall,'  which  would 
not  be  enough,  indeed,  to  keep  it  alive  if  it  were  not 
the  work  of  a  Bronte,  but  still  betray  it  kinship  and 
source.  The  scenes  of  Huntingdon's  wickedness  are 
less  interesting  but  less  improbable  than  the  country- 
house  scenes  of  '  Jane  Eyre ' ;  the  story  of  his  death 
has  many  true  and  touching  passages ;  the  last  love- 
scene  is  well,  even  in  parts  admirably  written.  But 
the  book's  truth,  so  far  as  it  is  true,  is  scarcely  the 
truth  of  imagination ;  it  is  rather  the  truth  of  a  tract 
or  a  report.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  many  of 
the  pages  are  close  transcripts  from  Bran  well's  conduct 
and  language, — so  far  as  Anne's  slighter  personality 
enabled  her  to  render  her  brother's  temperament, 
which  was  more  akin  to  Emily's  than  to  her  own.  The 
same  material  might  have  been  used  by  Emily  or 


xvi       THE  TENANT   OF   WILDFELL  HALL 

Charlotte ;  Emily,  as  we  know,  did  make  use  of  it  in 
'Wuthering  Heights;'  but  only  after  it  had  passed 
through  that  ineffable  transformation,  that  mysterious, 
incommunicable  heightening  which  makes  and  gives 
rank  in  literature.  Some  subtle,  innate  correspondence 
between  eye  and  brain,  between  brain  and  hand,  Avas 
present  in  Emily  and  Charlotte,  and  absent  in  Anne. 
There  is  no  other  account  to  be  given  of  this  or  any 
other  case  of  difference  between  serviceable  talent  and 
the  high  gifts  of  '  Delos'  and  Patara's  own  '  Apollo.' 

The  same  world  of  difference  appears  between  her 
poems  and  those  of  her  playfellow  and  comrade  Emily. 
If  ever  our  descendants  should  establish  the  schools  for 
writers  which  are  even  now  threatened  or  attempted, 
they  will  hardly  know  perhaps  any  better  than  we 
what  genius  is,  nor  how  it  can  be  produced.  But  if 
they  try  to  teach  by  example,  then  Anne  and  Emily 
Bronte  are  ready  to  their  hand.  Take  the  verses  writ- 
ten by  Emily  at  Koehead  which  contain  the  lovely 
lines  which  I  have  already  quoted  in  an  earlier  '  Intro- 
duction.' '  Just  before  those  lines  there  are  two  or 
three  verses  which  it  is  worth  while  to  compare  with 
a  poem  of  Anne's  called  '  Home.'  Emily  was  sixteen  at 
the  time  of  writing  ;  Anne  about  twenty -one  or  twenty- 
two.  Both  sisters  take  for  their  motive  the  exile's 
longing  thought  of  home.  Emily's  lines  are  full  of 
faults,  but  they  have  the  indefinable  quality — here,  no 
doubt,  only  in  the  bud,  only  as  a  matter  of  promise— 
which  Anne's  are  entirely  without.  From  the  twilight 

1  Introduction  to  Wuthering  Heights,  p.  xxxiz.  '  Still,  as  I  mused, 
the  naked  room,'  &c. 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

schoolroom  at  Roehead,  Emily  turns  in  thought  to  the 
distant  upland  of  Haworth  and  the  little  stone-built 
house  upon  its  crest : — 

'  There  is  a  spot,  'mid  barren  hills, 

Where  winter  howls,  and  driving  rain  ; 
Bnt,  if  the  dreary  tempest  chills, 
There  is  a  light  that  warms  again. 

The  house  is  old,  the  trees  are  bare, 
Moonless  above  bends  twilight's  dome, 

But  what  on  earth  is  half  so  dear — 
So  longed  for — as  the  hearth  of  home? 

The  mute  bird  sitting  on  the  stone, 
The  dank  moss  dripping  from  the  wall, 

The  thorn-trees  gaunt,   the  walks  o'ergrown, 
I  love  them — how  I  love  them  all!' 

Anne's  verses,  written  from  one  of  the  houses  where 
she  was  a  governess,  expresses  precisely  the  same  feeling, 
and  movement  of  mind.  But  notice  the  instinctive 
Tightness  and  swiftness  of  Emily's,  the  blurred  weak- 
ness of  Anne's ! — 

'  For  yonder  garden,  fair  and  wide, 

With  groves  of  evergreen, 
Long  winding  walks,  and  borders  trim, 
And  velvet  lawns  between — 

Restore  to  me  that  little  spot, 

With  gray  walls  compassed  round, 

Where  knotted  grass  neglected  lies, 
And  weeds  usurp  the  ground. 


xviii    THE   TENANT   OF  WILDFELL   HALL 

Though  all  around  this  mansion  high 

Invites  the  foot  to  roam, 
And  though  its  halls  are  fair  within — 

Oh,  give  me  back  my  Home!' 

A  similar  parallel  lies  between  Anne's  lines  'Do- 
mestic Peace,' — a  sad  and  true  reflection  of  the  terrible 
times  with  Bran  well  in  1846,  and  Emily's  '  Wanderer 
from  the  Fold';  while  in  Emily's  'Last  Lines,'  the 
daring  spirit  of  the  sister  to  whom  the  magic  gift  was 
granted  separates  itself  for  ever  from  the  gentle  and 
accustomed  piety  of  the  sister  to  whom  it  was  de- 
nied. Yet  Anne's  '  Last  Lines ' — '  I  hoped  that  with 
the  brave  and  strong ' — have  sweetness  and  sincerity  ; 
they  have  gained  and  kept  a  place  in  English  re- 
ligious verse,  and  they  must  always  appeal  to  those 
who  love  the  Brontes  because,  in  the  language  of 
Christian  faith  and  submission,  they  record  the  death 
of  Emily  and  the  passionate  affection  which  her  sis- 
ters bore  her. 

And  so  we  are  brought  back  to  the  point  from  which 
we  started.  It  is  not  as  the  writer  of  '  "Wildfoll  Hall,' 
but  as  the  sister  of  Charlotte  and  Emily  Bronte  that 
Anne  Bronte  escapes  oblivion — as  the  frail  'little  one,' 
upon  whom  the  other  two  lavished  a  tender  and  pro- 
tecting care,  who  was  a  witness  of  Emily's  death,  and 
herself,  within  a  few  minutes  of  her  own  farewell  to 
life,  bade  Charlotte  '  take  courage/ 

'"When  my  thoughts  turn  to  Anne,'  said  Charlotte 
many  years  earlier,  '  they  always  see  her  as  a  patient, 
persecuted  stranger, — more  lonely,  less  gifted  with  the 
power  of  making  friends  even  than  I  am.'  Later  on, 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

however,  this  power  of  making  friends  seems  to  have 
belonged  to  Anne  in  greater  measure  than  to  the  others. 
Her  gentleness  conquered;  she  was  not  set  apart,  as 
they  were,  by  the  lonely  and  self-sufficing  activities  of 
great  powers ;  her  Christianity,  though  sad  and  timid, 
was  of  a  kind  which  those  around  her  could  understand  ; 
she  made  no  grim  fight  with  suffering  and  death  as  did 
Emily.  Emily  was  'torn'  from  life  'conscious,  pant- 
ing, reluctant,'  to  use  Charlotte's  own  words ;  Anne's 
'  sufferings  were  mild,'  her  mind  'generally  serene,'  and 
at  the  last '  she  thanked  God  that  death  was  come,  and 
come  so  gently.'  When  Charlotte  returned  to  the  des- 
olate house  at  Haworth,  Emily's  large  house-dog  and 
Anne's  little  spaniel  welcomed  her  in  'a  strange,  heart- 
touching  way,'  she  writes  to  Mr.  Williams.  She  alone 
was  left,  heir  to  all  the  memories  and  tragedies  of  the 
house.  She  took  up  again  the  task  of  life  and  labour. 
She  cared  for  her  father ;  she  returned  to  the  writing 
of  '  Shirley ' ;  and  when  she  herself  passed  away,  four 
years  later,  she  had  so  turned  those  years  to  account 
that  not  only  all  she  did  but  all  she  loved  had  passed 
silently  into  the  keeping  of  fame.  Mrs.  Gaskell's  touch- 
ing and  delightful  task  was  ready  for  her,  and  Anne, 
no  less  than  Charlotte  and  Emily,  was  sure  of  England's 
remembrance. 


AUTHOR'S    PREFACE1 


THE   SECOND   EDITION 

WHILE  I  acknowledge  the  success  of  the  present  work  to 
have  been  greater  than  I  anticipated,  and  the  praises  it  has 
elicited  from  a  few  kind  critics  to  have  been  greater  than  it 
deserved,  I  must  also  admit  that  from  some  other  quarters 
it  has  been  censured  with  an  asperity  which  I  was  as  little 
prepared  to  expect,  and  which  my  judgment,  as  well  as  my 
feelings,  assures  me  is  more  bitter  than  just.  It  is  scarcely 
the  province  of  an  author  to  refute  the  arguments  of  his 
censors  and  vindicate  his  own  productions  ;  but  I  may  be 
allowed  to  make  here  a  few  observations  with  which  I 
would  have  prefaced  the  first  edition,  had  I  foreseen  the 
necessity  of  such  precautions  against  the  misapprehensions 
of  those  who  would  read  it  with  a  prejudiced  mind  or  be 
content  to  judge  it  by  a  hasty  glance. 

My  object  in  writing  the  following  pages  was  not 
simply  to  amuse  the  Header  ;  neither  was  it  to  gratify  my 
own  taste,  nor  yet  to  ingratiate  myself  with  the  Press  and 
the  Public  :  I  wished  to  tell  the  truth,  for  truth  always 


1  This  Preface  is  now  printed  here  for  the  first  time  in  a  collected 
edition  of  the  works  of  the  Bronte  sisters. 


xxii      THE  TENANT  OF  WILDFELL  HALL 

conveys  its  own  moral  to  those  who  are  able  to  receive  it. 
But  as  the  priceless  treasure  too  frequently  hides  at  the 
bottom  of  a  well,  it  needs  some  courage  to  dive  for  it, 
especially  as  he  that  does  so  will  be  likely  to  incur  more 
scorn  and  obloquy  for  the  mud  and  water  into  which  he  has 
ventured  to  plunge,  than  thanks  for  the  jewel  he  procures ; 
as,  in  like  manner,  she  who  undertakes  the  cleansing  of  a 
careless  bachelor's  apartment  will  be  liable  to  more  abuse 
for  the  dust  she  raises  than  commendation  for  the  clear- 
ance she  effects.  Let  it  not  be  imagined,  however,  that  I 
consider  myself  competent  to  reform  the  errors  and  abuses 
of  society,  but  only  that  I  would  fain  contribute  my  humble 
quota  towards  so  good  an  aim ;  and  if  I  can  gain  the  pub- 
lic ear  at  all,  I  would  rather  whisper  a  few  wholesome 
truths  therein  than  much  soft  nonsense. 

As  the  story  of  ( Agnes  Grey '  was  accused  of  extravagant 
over-colouring  in  those  very  parts  that  were  carefully  copied 
from  the  life,  with  a  most  scrupulous  avoidance  of  all 
exaggeration,  so,  in  the  present  work,  1  find  myself  cen- 
sured for  depicting  con  amore,  with  '  a  morbid  love  of  the 
coarse",  if  not  of  the  brutal/  those  scenes  which,  I  will  ven- 
ture to  say,  have  not  been  more  painful  for  the  most  fas- 
tidious of  my  critics  to  read  than  they  were  for  me  to 
describe.  I  may  have  gone  too  far  ;  in  which  case  I  shall 
be  careful  not  to  trouble  myself  or  my  readers  in  the  same 
way  again  ;  but  when  we  have  to  do  with  vice  and  vicious 
characters,  I  maintain  it  is  better  to  depict  them  as  they 
really  are  than  as  they  would  wish  to  appear.  To  repre- 
sent a  bad  thing  in  its  least  offensive  light  is,  doubtless, 
the  most  agreeable  course  for  a  writer  of  fiction  to  pursue ; 
but  is  it  the  most  honest,  or  the  safest  ?  Is  it  better  to 
reveal  the  snares  and  pitfalls  of  life  to  the  young  and 
thoughtless  traveller,  or  to  cover  them  with  branches  and 
flowers  ?  Oh,  reader  !  if  there  were  less  of  this  delicate 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE  xxiii 

concealment  of  facts  —  this  whispering,  e  Peace,  peace/ 
when  there  is  no  peace,  there  would  be  less  of  sin  and 
misery  to  the  young  of  both  sexes  who  are  left  to  wring 
their  bitter  knowledge  from  experience. 

I  would  not  be  understood  to  suppose  that  the  proceed- 
ings of  the  unhappy  scapegrace,  with  his  few  profligate 
companions  I  have  here  introduced,  are  a  specimen  of  the 
common  practices  of  society — the  case  is  an  extreme  one, 
as  I  trusted  none  would  fail  to  perceive  ;  but  I  know  that 
such  characters  do  exist,  and  if  I  have  warned  one  rash 
youth  from  following  in  their  steps,  or  prevented  one 
thoughtless  girl  from  falling  into  the  very  natural  error 
of  my  heroine,  the  book  has  not  been  written  in  vain. 
But,  at  the  same  time,  if  any  honest  reader  shall  have 
derived  more  pain  than  pleasure  from  its  perusal,  and 
have  closed  the  last  volume  with  a  disagreeable  impres- 
sion on  his  mind,  I  humbly  crave  his  pardon,  for  such 
was  far  from  my  intention ;  and  I  will  endeavour  to  do 
better  another  time,  for  I  love  to  give  innocent  pleasure. 
Yet,  be  it  understood,  I  shall  not  limit  my  ambition  to 
this — or  even  to  producing  e  a  perfect  work  of  art ' :  time 
and  talents  so  spent,  I  should  consider  wasted  and  mis- 
applied. Such  humble  talents  as  God  has  given  me  I  will 
endeavour  to  put  to  their  greatest  use  ;  if  I  am  able  to 
amuse,  I  will  try  to  benefit  too  ;  and  when  I  feel  it  my 
duty  to  speak  an  unpalatable  truth,  with  the  help  of  God, 
I  will  speak  it,  though  it  be  to  the  prejudice  of  my  name 
and  to  the  detriment  of  my  reader's  immediate  pleasure 
as  well  as  my  own. 

One  word  more,  and  I  have  done.  Eespecting  the  au- 
thor's identity,  I  would  have  it  to  be  distinctly  understood 
that  Acton  Bell  is  neither  Currer  nor  Ellis  Bell,  and 
therefore  let  not  his  faults  be  attributed  to  them.  As  to 
whether  the  name  be  real  or  fictitious,  it  cannot  greatly 


xxiv     THE   TENANT  OF  WILDFELL  HALL 

signify  to  those  who  know  him  only  by  his  works.  As 
little,  I  should  think,  can  it  matter  whether  the  writer 
so  designated  is  a  man,  or  a  woman,  as  one  or  two  of  my 
critics  profess  to  have  discovered.  I  take  the  imputation 
in  good  part,  as  a  compliment  to  the  just  delineation  of 
my  female  characters ;  and  though  I  am  bound  to  at- 
tribute much  of  the  severity  of  my  censors  to  this  sus- 
picion, I  make  no  effort  to  refute  it,  because,  in  my  own 
mind,  I  am  satisfied  that  if  a  book  is  a  good  one,  it  is  so 
whatever  the  sex  of  the  author  may  be.  All  novels  are, 
or  should  be,  written  for  both  men  and  women  to  read, 
and  I  am  at  a  loss  to  conceive  how  a  man  should  permit 
himself  to  write  anything  that  would  be  really  disgrace- 
ful to  a  woman,  or  why  a  woman  should  be  censured  for 
writing  anything  that  would  be  proper  and  becoming  for 
a  man. 

July  22nd,  1848. 


Facsimile  of  tlte  Title-page  of  the  First  Edition, 


THE  TENANT 


WILDFELL    HALL 


BY 


ACT  0  N     BELL 


IN  THREE  VOLUMES. 


VOL.  I. 


LONDON : 

T.   C.  NEWBY.   PUBLISHER, 

72,MORTIMER  STREET.  CAVENDISH  SQUARE. 

1848. 


THE 

TENANT  OF  WILDFELL  HALL 

CHAPTEE  I 

You  must  go  back  with  me  to  the  autumn  of  1827. 

My  father,  as  you  know,  was  a  sort  of  gentleman  farmer 

in shire ;  and  I,  by  his  express  desire,  succeeded  him  in 

the  same  quiet  occupation,  not  very  willingly,  for  ambition 
urged  me  to  higher  aims,  and  self-conceit  assured  me  that, 
in  disregarding  its  voice,  I  was  burying  my  talent  in  the 
earth,  and  hiding  my  light  under  a  bushel.  My  mother  had 
done  her  utmost  to  persuade  me  that  I  was  capable  of  great 
achievements ;  but  my  father,  who  thought  ambition  was 
the  surest  road  to  ruin,  and  change  but  another  word  for 
destruction,  would  listen  to  no  scheme  for  bettering  either 
my  own  condition,  or  that  of  my  fellow  mortals.  He 
assured  me  it  was  all  rubbish,  and  exhorted  me,  with 
his  dying  breath,  to  continue  in  the  good  old  way,  to  follow 
his  steps,  and  those  of  his  father  before  him,  and  let  my 
highest  ambition  be  to  walk  honestly  through  the  world, 
looking  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left,  and  to 
transmit  the  paternal  acres  to  my  children  in,  at  least,  as 
nourishing  a  condition  as  he  left  them  to  me. 

'  Well ! — an  honest  and  industrious  farmer  is  one  of 
the  most  useful  members  of  society ;  and  if  I  devote  my 
talents  to  the  cultivation  of  my  farm,  and  the  improvement  of 


2  THE  TENANT  OF 

agriculture  in  general;  I  shall  thereby  benefit,  not  only  my 
own  immediate  connections  and  dependants,  but,  in  some  de- 
gree, mankind  at  large : — hence  I  shall  not  have  lived  in  vain.' 

With  such  reflections  as  these  I  was  endeavouring  to 
console  myself,  as  I  plodded  home  from  the  fields,  one  cold, 
damp,  cloudy  evening  towards  the  close  of  October.  But 
the  gleam  of  a  bright  red  fire  through  the  parlour  window 
had  more  effect  in  cheering  my  spirits,  and  rebuking  my 
thankless  repinings,  than  all  the  sage  reflections  and  good 
resolutions  I  had  forced  my  mind  to  frame  ; — for  I  was  young 
then,  remember — only  four-and-twenty — and  had  not  ac- 
quired half  the  rule  over  my  own  spirit  that  I  now  possess 
— trifling  as  that  may  be. 

However,  that  haven  of  bliss  must  not  be  entered  till  I 
had  exchanged  my  miry  boots  for  a  clean  pair  of  shoes,  and 
my  rough  surtout  for  a  respectable  coat,  and  made  myself 
generally  presentable  before  decent  society ;  for  my  mother, 
with  all  her  kindness,  was  vastly  particular  on  certain  points. 

In  ascending  to  my  room  I  was  met  upon  the  stairs  by  a 
smart,  pretty  girl  of  nineteen,  with  a  tidy,  dumpy  figure,  a 
round  face,  bright,  blooming  cheeks,  glossy,  clustering  curls, 
and  little  merry  brown  eyes.  I  need  not  tell  you  this  was 
my  sister  Eose.  She  is,  I  know,  a  comely  matron  still,  and, 
doubtless,  no  less  lovely — in  your  eyes — than  on  the  happy 
day  you  first  beheld  her.  Nothing  told  me  then  that 
she,  a  few  years  hence,  would  be  the  wife  of  one  entirely 
unknown  to  me  as  yet,  but  destined  hereafter  to  become  a 
closer  friend  than  even  herself,  more  intimate  than  that 
unmannerly  lad  of  seventeen,  by  whom  I  was  collared  in 
the  passage,  on  coming  down,  and  well-nigh  jerked  off  my 
equilibrium,  and  who,  in  correction  for  his  impudence,  re- 
ceived a  resounding  whack  over  the  sconce,  which,  however, 
sustained  no  serious  injury  from  the  infliction ;  as,  besides 
being  more  than  commonly  thick,  it  was  protected  by  a  re- 
dundant shock  of  short,  reddish  curls,  that  my  mother  called 
auburn. 

On  entering  the  parlour  we  found  that  honoured  lady 


WILDFELL  HALL  3 

seated  in  her  arm-chair  at  the  fireside,  working  away  at  her 
knitting,  according  to  her  usual  custom,  when  she  had 
nothing  else  to  do.  She  had  swept  the  hearth,  and  made  a 
bright  blazing  fire  for  our  reception ;  the  servant  had  just 
brought  in  the  tea-tray  ;  and  Kose  was  producing  the  sugar- 
basin  and  tea-caddy  from  the  cupboard  in  the  black  oak  side- 
board, that  shone  like  polished  ebony,  in  the  cheerful  parlour 
twilight. 

'  Well !  here  they  both  are/  cried  my  mother,  looking 
round  upon  us  without  retarding  the  motion  of  her  nimble 
fingers  and  glittering  needles.  '  Now  shut  the  door,  and 
come  to  the  fire,  while  Eose  gets  the  tea  ready ;  I'm  sure 
you  must  be  starved ; — and  tell  me  what  you've  been  about 
all  day; — I  like  to  know  what  my  children  have  been  about.' 

'  I've  been  breaking  in  the  grey  colt — no  easy  business 
that — directing  the  ploughing  of  the  last  wheat  stubble — for 
the  ploughboy  has  not  the  sense  to  direct  himself — and 
carrying  out  a  plan  for  the  extensive  and  efficient  draining 
of  the  low  meadowlands.' 

'  That's  my  brave  boy ! — and  Fergus,  what  have  you  been 
doing  ?  ' 

'  Badger-baiting.' 

And  here  he  proceeded  to  give  a  particular  account  of  his 
sport,  and  the  respective  traits  of  prowess  evinced  by  the 
badger  and  the  dogs  ;  my  mother  pretending  to  listen  with 
deep  attention,  and  watching  his  animated  countenance  with 
a  degree  of  maternal  admiration  I  thought  highly  dispro- 
portioned  to  its  object. 

'  It's  time  you  should  be  doing  something  else,  Fergus,' 
said  I,  as  soon  as  a  momentary  pause  in  his  narration 
allowed  me  to  get  in  a  word. 

'  What  can  I  do  ?  '  replied  he  ;  '  my  mother  won't  let  me 
go  to  sea  or  enter  the  army ;  and  I'm  determined  to  do 
nothing  else — except  make  myself  such  a  nuisance  to  you  all, 
that  you  will  be  thankful  to  get  rid  of  me  on  any  terms.' 

Our  parent  soothingly  stroked  his  stiff,  short  curls.  He 
growled,  and  tried  to  look  sulky,  and  then  we  all  took  our 


4  THE  TENANT   OP 

seats  at  the  table,  in  obedience  to  the  thrice-repeated 
summons  of  Rose. 

'  Now  take  your  tea,'  said  she ;  '  and  I'll  tell  you  what 
I've  been  doing.  I've  been  to  call  on  the  Wilsons ;  and  it's 
a  thousand  pities  you  didn't  go  with  me,  Gilbert,  for  Eliza 
Millward  was  there  ! ' 

'Well!  what  of  her?' 

'  Oh,  nothing ! — I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  about  her  ; — 
only  that  she's  a.  nice,  amusing  little  thing,  when  she  is  in  a 
merry  humour,  and  I  shouldn't  mind  calling  her — 

'  Hush,  hush,  my  dear !  your  brother  has  no  snch  idea ! ' 
whispered  my  mother  earnestly,  holding  up  her  finger. 

'  Well,"  resumed  Eose  ;  '  I  was  going  to  tell  you  an  im- 
portant piece  of  news  I  heard  there — I  have  been  bursting 
with  it  ever  since.  You  know  it  was  reported  a  month  ago, 
that  somebody  was  going  to  take  Wildfell  Hall — and — what 
do  you  think?  It  has  actually  been  inhabited  above  a 
week  ! — and  we  never  knew ! ' 

'  Impossible  ! '  cried  my  mother. 

1  Preposterous  ! !  ! '  shrieked  Fergus. 

'  It  has  indeed  ! — and  by  a  single  lady  ! ' 

'  Good  gracious,  my  dear !     The  place  is  in  ruins ! ' 

'  She  has  had  two  or  three  rooms  made  habitable ;  and 
there  she  lives,  all  alone — except  an  old  woman  for  a 
servant ! ' 

'Oh,  dear!  that  spoils  it — I'd  hoped  she  was  a  witch,' 
observed  Fergus,  while  carving  his  inch-thick  slice  of  bread 
and  butter. 

'  Nonsense,  Fergus  !     But  isn't  it  strange,  mamma  ?  ' 

'  Strange  !  I  can  hardly  believe  it.' 

'But  you  may  believe  it;  for  Jane  Wilson  has  seen 
her.  She  went  with  her  mother,  who,  of  course,  when 
she  heard  of  a  stranger  being  in  the  neighbourhood,  would 
be  on  pins  and  needles  till  she  had  seen  her  and  got 
all  she  could  out  of  her.  She  is  called  Mrs.  Graham, 
and  she  is  in  mourning — not  widow's  weeds,  but  slightish 
mourning — and  she  is  quite  young,  they  say, — not  above 


WILDFELL  HALL  5 

five  or  six  and  twenty, — but  so  reserved !  They  tried  all 
they  could  to  find  out  who  she  was,  and  where  she  came 
from,  and  all  about  her,  but  neither  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  her 
pertinacious  and  impertinent  home-thrusts,  nor  Miss  Wilson, 
with  her  skilful  manoeuvring,  could  manage  to  elicit  a  single 
satisfactory  answer,  or  even  a  casual  remark,  or  chance  ex- 
pression calculated  to  allay  their  curiosity,  or  throw  the 
faintest  ray  of  light  upon  her  history,  circumstances,  or  con- 
nections. Moreover,  she  was  barely  civil  to  them,  and 
evidently  better  pleased  to  say  '  good-by,'  than  '  how  do  you 
do.'  But  Eliza  Millward  says  her  father  intends  to  call 
upon  her  soon,  to  offer  some  pastoral  advice,  which  he  fears 
she  needs,  as,  though  she  is  known  to  have  entered  the 
neighbourhood  early  last  week,  she  did  not  make  her 
appearance  at  church  on  Sunday  ;  and  she — Eliza,  that  is — 
will  beg  to  accompany  him,  and  is  sure  she  can  succeed  in 
wheedling  something  out  of  her — you  know,  Gilbert,  she  can 
do  anything.  And  we  should  call  some  time,  mamma  ;  its 
only  proper,  you  know.' 

'  Of  course,  my  dear.  Poor  thing !  How  lonely  she  must 
feel ! ' 

'  And  pray,  be  quick  about  it ;  and  mind  you  bring  me 

word  how  much  sugar  she  puts  in  her  tea,  and  what  sort  of 

i  caps  and   aprons  she  wears,  and  all  about  it ;  for  I  don't 

know  how  I  can  live  till  I  know,'  said  Fergus,  very  gravely. 

But  if  he  intended  the  speech  to  be  hailed  as  a  master- 
stroke of  wit,  he  signally  failed,  for  nobody  laughed.  How- 
ever, he  was  not  much  disconcerted  at  that;  for  when  he 
had  taken  a  mouthful  of  bread  and  butter,  and  was  about  to 
swallow  a  gulp  of  tea,  the  humour  of  the  thing  burst  upon 
him  with  such  irresistible  force,  that  he  was  obliged  to  jump 
up  from  the  table,  and  rush  snorting  and  choking  from  the 
room ;  and  a  minute  after,  was  heard  screaming  in  fearful 
agony  in  the  garden. 

As  for  me,  I  was  hungry,  and  contented  myself  with 
silently  demolishing  the  tea,  ham,  and  toast,  while  my 
mother  and  sister  went  on  talking,  and  continued  to  discuss 


6  THE  TENANT  OF 

the  apparent  or  non-apparent  circumstances,  and  probable  or 
improbable  history  of  the  mysterious  lady  ;  but  I  must  con- 
fess that,  after  my  brother's  misadventure,  I  once  or  twice 
raised  the  cup  to  my  lips,  and  put  it  down  again  without 
daring  to  taste  the  contents,  lest  I  should  injure  my  dignity 
by  a  similar  explosion. 

The  next  day  my  mother  and  Rose  hastened  to  pay  their 
compliments  to  the  fair  recluse ;  and  came  back  but  little 
wiser  than  they  went ;  though  my  mother  declared  she  did 
not  regret  the  journey,  for  if  she  had  not  gained  much  good, 
she  flattered  herself  she  had  imparted  some,  and  that  was 
better :  she  had  given  some  useful  advice,  which,  she  hoped, 
would  not  be  thrown  away ;  for  Mrs.  Graham,  though  she 
said  little  to  any  purpose,  and  appeared  somewhat  self- 
opinionated,  seemed  not  incapable  of  reflection, — though  she 
did  not  know  where  she  had  been  all  her  life,  poor  thing,  for 
she  betrayed  a  lamentable  ignorance  on  certain  points,  and 
had  not  even  the  sense  to  be  ashamed  of  it. 

'  On  what  points,  mother  ?  '  asked  I. 

'  On  household  matters,  and  all  the  little  niceties  of 
cookery,  and  such  things,  that  every  lady  ought  to  be  familiar 
with,  whether  she  be  required  to  make  a  practical  use  of  her 
knowledge  or  not.  I  gave  her  some  useful  pieces  of  informa- 
tion, however,  and  several  excellent  receipts,  the  value  of 
which  she  evidently  could  not  appreciate,  for  she  begged  I 
would  not  trouble  myself,  as  she  lived  in  such  a  plain,  quiet 
way,  that  she  was  sure  she  should  never  make  use  of  them. 
"  No  matter,  my  dear,"  said  I ;  "it  is  what  every  respectable 
female  ought  to  know ; — and  besides,  though  you  are  alone 
now,  you  will  not  be  always  so ;  you  have  been  married,  and 
probably — I  might  say  almost  certainly — will  be  again."  "  You 
are  mistaken  there,  ma'am,"  said  she,  almost  haughtily  ;  "  I 
am  certain  I  never  shall." — But  I  told  her  I  knew  better.' 

'  Some  romantic  young  widow,  I  suppose,'  said  I,  '  come 
there  to  end  her  days  in  solitude,  and  mourn  in  secret  for  the 
dear  departed — but  it  won't  last  long.' 

'  No,  I  think  not,'  observed  Bose ;  '  for  she  didn't  seem 


WILDFELL  HALL  7 

very  disconsolate  after  all ;  and  she's  excessively  pretty — 
handsome  rather — you  must  see  her,  Gilbert ;  you  will  call 
her  a  perfect  beauty,  though  you  could  hardly  pretend  to 
discover  a  resemblance  between  her  and  Eliza  Millward.' 

'  Well,  I  can  imagine  many  faces  more  beautiful  than 
Eliza's,  though  not  more  charming.  I  allow  she  has  small 
claims  to  perfection  ;  but  then,  I  maintain  that,  if  she  were 
more  perfect,  she  would  be  less  interesting.' 

'  And  so  you  prefer  her  faults  to  other  people's  perfec- 
tions ? ' 

'  Just  so — saving  my  mother's  presence.' 

'  Oh,  my  dear  Gilbert,  what  nonsense  you  talk  ! — I  know 
you  don't  mean  it  ;  it's  quite  out  of  the  question,'  said  my 
mother,  getting  up,  and  bustling  out  of  the  room,  under  pre- 
tence of  household  business,  in  order  to  escape  the  contra- 
diction that  was  trembling  on  my  tongue. 

After  that  Eose  favoured  me  with  further  particulars 
respecting  Mrs.  Graham.  Her  appearance,  manners,  and 
dress,  and  the  very  furniture  of  the  room  she  inhabited,  were 
all  set  before  me,  with  rather  more  clearness  and  precision 
than  I  cared  to  see  them ;  -but,  as  I  was  not  a  very  attentive 
listener,  I  could  not  repeat  the  description  if  I  would. 

The  next  day  was  Saturday  ;  and,  on -Sunday,  everybody 
wondered  whether  or  not  the  fair  unknown  would  profit  by 
the  vicar's  remonstrance,  and  come  to  church.  I  confess  I 
looked  with  some  interest  myself  towards  the  old  family  pew, 
appertaining  to  Wildfell  Hall,  where  the  faded  crimson 
cushions  and  lining  had  been  unpressed  and  unrenewed  so 
many  years,  and  the  grim  escutcheons,  with  their  lugubrious 
borders  of  rusty  black  cloth,  frowned  so  sternly  from  the  wall 
above. 

And  there  I  beheld  a  tall,  lady-like  figure,  clad  in  black. 
Her  face  was  towards  me,  and  there  was  something  in  it 
which,  once  seen,  invited  me  to  look  again.  Her  hair  was 
raven  black,  and  disposed  in  long  glossy  ringlets,  a  style  of 
coiffure  rather  unusual  in  those  days,  but  always  graceful  and 
becoming ;  her  complexion  was  clear  and  pale  ;  her  eyes  I 


8  THE  TENANT  OF 

could  not  see,  for,  being  bent  upon  her  prayer-book,  they 
were  concealed  by  their  drooping  lids  and  long  black  lashes, 
but  the  brows  above  were  expressive  and  well  defined ;  the 
forehead  was  lofty  and  intellectual,  the  nose,  a  perfect  aqui- 
line and  the  features,  in  general,  unexceptionable — only  there 
was  a  slight  hollowness  about  the  cheeks  and  eyes,  and  the 
lips,  though  finely  formed,  were  a  little  too  thin,  a  little  too 
firmly  compressed,  and  had  something  about  them  that 
betokened,  I  thought,  no  very  soft  or  amiable  temper ;  and  I 
said  in  my  heart — '  I  would  rather  admire  you  from  this 
distance,  fair  lady,  than  be  the  partner  of  your  home.' 

Just  then  she  happened  to  raise  her  eyes,  and  they 
met  mine ;  I  did  not  choose  to  withdraw  my  gaze,  and  she 
turned  again  to  her  book,  but  with  a  momentary,  indefinable 
expression  of  quiet  scorn,  that  was  inexpressibly  provoking 
to  me. 

1  She  thinks  me  an  impudent  puppy,'  thought  I. 
'Humph  ! — she  shall  change  her  mind  before  long,  if  I  think 
it  worth  while.' 

But  then  it  flashed  upon  me  that  these  were  very  improper 
thoughts  for  a  place  of  worship,  and  that  my  behaviour,  on 
the  present  occasion,  was  anything  but  what  it  ought  to  be. 
Previous,  however,  to  directing  my  mind  to  the  service,  I 
glanced  round  the  church  to  see  if  any  one  had  been  observing 
me  ; — but  no, — all,  who  were  not  attending  to  their  prayer- 
books,  were  attending  to  the  strange  lady, — my  good  mother 
and  sister  among  the  rest,  and  Mrs.  Wilson  and  her  daughter ; 
and  even  Eliza  Mill  ward  was  slily  glancing  from  the  corners 
of  her  eyes  towards  the  object  of  general  attraction.  Then 
she  glanced  at  me,  simpered  a  little,  and  blushed,  modestly 
looked  at  her  prayer-book,  and  endeavoured  to  compose  her 
features. 

Here  I  was  transgressing  again ;  and  this  time  I  was 
made  sensible  of  it  by  a  sudden  dig  in  the  ribs,  from  the 
elbow  of  my  pert  brother.  For  the  present,  I  could  only 
resent  the  insult  by  pressing  my  foot  upon  his  toes,  deferring 
further  vengeance  till  we  got  out  of  church. 


WILDFELL  HALL  9 

Now,  Halford,  before  I  close  this  letter,  I'll  tell  you  who 
Eliza  Millward  was :  she  was  the  vicar's  younger  daughter, 
and  a  very  engaging  little  creature,  for  whom  I  felt  no  small 
degree  of  partiality ; — and  she  knew  it,  though  I  had  never 
come  to  any  direct  explanation,  and  had  no  definite  intention 
of  so  doing,  for  my  mother,  who  maintained  there  was  no 
one  good  enough  for  me  within  twenty  miles  round,  could 
not  bear  the  thoughts  of  my  marrying  that  insignificant  little 
thing,  who,  in  addition  to  her  numerous  other  disqualifica- 
tions, had  not  twenty  pounds  to  call  her  own.  Eliza's  figure 
was  at  once  slight  and  plump,  her  face  small,  and  nearly 
as  round  as  my  sister's, — complexion,  something  similar  to 
hers,  but  more  delicate  and  less  decidedly  blooming, — nose, 
retrouss6, — features,  generally  irregular ;  and,  altogether,  she 
was  rather  charming  than  pretty.  But  her  eyes — I  must  not 
forget  those  remarkable  features,  for  therein  her  chief  attrac- 
tion lay — in  outward  aspect  at  least ; — they  were  long  and 
narrow  in  shape,  the  irids  black,  or  very  dark  brown,  the 
expression  various,  and  ever  changing,  but  always  either 
preternaturally — I  had  almost  said  diabolically — wicked,  or 
irresistibly  bewitching — often  both.  Her  voice  was  gentle 
and  childish,  her  tread  light  and  soft  as  that  of  a  cat : — but 
her  manners  more  frequently  resembled  those  of  a  pretty 
playful  kitten,  that  is  now  pert  and  roguish,  now  timid  and 
demure,  according  to  its  own  sweet  will. 

Her  sister,  Mary,  was  several  years  older,  several  inches 
taller,  and  of  a  larger,  coarser  build — a  plain,  quiet,  sensible 
girl,  who  had  patiently  nursed  their  mother,  through  her 
last  long,  tedious  illness,  and  been  the  housekeeper,  and 
family  drudge,  from  thence  to  the  present  time.  She  was 
trusted  and  valued  by  her  father,  loved  and  courted  by  all 
dogs,  cats,  children,  and  poor  people,  and  slighted  and 
neglected  by  everybody  else. 

The  Eeverend  Michael  Millward  himself  was  a  tall, 
ponderous  elderly  gentleman,  who  placed  a  shovel  hat  above 
his  large,  square,  massive-featured  face,  carried  a  stout 
walking-stick  in  his  hand,  and  incased  his  still  powerful 


10  THE  TENANT  OF 

limbs  in  knee-breeches  and  gaiters, — or  black  silk  stockings 
on  state  occasions.  He  was  a  man  of  fixed  principles,  strong 
prejudices,  and  regular  habits,  intolerant  of  dissent  in  any 
shape,  acting  under  a  firm  conviction  that  his  opinions  were 
always  right,  and  whoever  differed  from  them  must  be  either 
most  deplorably  ignorant,  or  wilfully  blind. 

In  childhood,  I  had  always  been  accustomed  to  regard 
him  with  a  feeling  of  reverential  awe — but  lately,  even  now, 
surmounted,  for,  though  he  had  a  fatherly  kindness  for  the 
well-behaved,  he  was  a  strict  disciplinarian,  and  had  often 
sternly  reproved  our  juvenile  failings  and  peccadilloes  ;  and 
moreover,  in  those  days,  whenever  he  called  upon  our 
parents,  we  had  to  stand  up  before  him,  and  say  our 
catechism,  or  repeat,  '  How  doth  the  little  busy  bee,'  or 
some  other  hymn,  or — worse  than  all — be  questioned  about 
his  last  text,  and  the  heads  of  the  discourse,  which  we  never 
could  remember.  Sometimes,  the  worthy  gentleman  would 
reprove  my  mother  for  being  over-indulgent  to  her  sons, 
with  a  reference  to  old  Eli,  or  David  and  Absalom,  which 
was  particularly  galling  to  her  feelings ;  and,  very  highly  as 
she  respected  him,  and  all  his  sayings,  I  once  heard  her 
exclaim,  '  I  wish  to  goodness  he  had  a  son  himself !  He 
wouldn't  be  so  ready  with  his  advice  to  other  people  then  ; 
— he'd  see  what  it  is  to  have  a  couple  of  boys  to  keep  in 
order." 

He  had  a  laudable  care  for  his  own  bodily  health — kept 
very  early  hours,  regularly  took  a  walk  before  breakfast,  was 
vastly  particular  about  warm  and  dry  clothing,  had  never 
been  known  to  preach  a  sermon  without  previously  swallow- 
ing a  raw  egg — albeit  he  was  gifted  with  good  lungs  and  a 
powerful  voice, — and  was,  generally,  extremely  particular 
about  what  he  ate  and  drank,  though  by  no  means  abstemi- 
ous, and  having  a  mode  of  dietary  peculiar  to  himself, — being 
a  great  despiser  of  tea  and  such  slops,  and  a  patron  of  malt 
liquors,  bacon  and  eggs,  ham,  hung  beef,  and  other  strong 
meats,  which  agreed  well  enough  with  his  digestive  organs, 
and  therefore  were  martfltained  by  him.  tq  be  good  and  whole- 


WILDPELL  HALL  11 

some  for  everybody,  and  confidently  recommended  to  the 
most  delicate  convalescents  or  dyspeptics,  who,  if  they  failed 
to  derive  the  promised  benefit  from  his  prescriptions,  were 
told  it  was  because  they  had  not  persevered,  and  if  they  com- 
plained of  inconvenient  results  therefrom,  were  assured  it 
was  all  fancy. 

I  will  just  touch  upon  two  other  persons  whom  I  have 
mentioned,  and  then  bring  this  long  letter  to  a  close.  These 
are  Mrs.  Wilson  and  her  daughter.  The  former  was  the 
widow  of  a  substantial  farmer,  a  narrow-minded,  tattling  old 
gossip,  whose  character  is  not  worth  describing.  She  had 
two  sons,  Eobert,  a  rough  countrified  farmer,  and  Richard,  a 
retiring,  studious  young  man,  who  was  studying  the  classics 
with  the  vicar's  assistance,  preparing  for  college,  with  a  view 
to  enter  the  church. 

Their  sister  Jane  was  a  young  lady  of  some  talents,  and 
more  ambition.  She  had,  at  her  own  desire,  received  a  regu- 
lar boarding-school  education,  superior  to  what  any  member 
of  the  family  had  obtained  before.  She  had  taken  the  polish 
well,  acquired  considerable  elegance  of  manners,  quite  lost 
her  provincial  accent,  and  could  boast  of  more  accomplish- 
ments than  the  vicar's  daughters.  She  was  considered  a 
beauty  besides  ;  but  never  for  a  moment  could  she  number 
me  amongst  her  admirers.  She  was  about  six  and  twenty, 
rather  tall  and  very  slender,  her  hair  was  neither  chestnut 
nor  auburn,  but  a  most  decided  bright,  light  red ;  her  com- 
plexion was  remarkably  fair  and  brilliant,  her  head  small, 
neck  long,  chin  well  turned,  but  very  short,  lips  thin  and  red, 
eyes  clear  hazel,  quick,  and  penetrating,  but  entirely  desti- 
tute of  poetry  or  feeling.  She  had,  or  might  have  had, 
many  suitors  in  her  own  rank  of  life,  but  scornfully  repulsed 
or  rejected  them  all ;  for  none  but  a  gentleman  could  please 
her  refined  taste,  and  none  but  a  rich  one  could  satisfy  her 
soaring  ambition.  One  gentleman  there  was,  from  whom  she 
had  lately  received  some  rather  pointed  attentions,  and  upon 
whose  heart,  name,  and  fortune,  it  was  whispered,  she  had 
serious  designs.  This  was  Mr.  Lawrence,  the  young  squire, 


12  THE  TENANT  OP 

whose  family  had  formerly  occupied  Wildfell  Hall,  but  had 
deserted  it,  some  fifteen  years  ago,  for  a  more  modern  and 
commodious  mansion  in  the  neighbouring  parish. 

Now,  Halford,  I  bid  you  adieu  for  the  present.  This  is 
the  first  instalment  of  my  debt.  If  the  coin  suits  you,  tell 
me  so,  and  I'll  send  you  the  rest  at  my  leisure  :  if  you 
would  rather  remain  my  creditor  than  stuff  your  purse  with 
such  ungainly,  heavy  pieces, — tell  me  still,  and  I'll  pardon 
your  bad  taste,  and  willingly  keep  the  treasure  to  myself. 

Yours  immutably, 

GILBERT  MABKHAM. 


CHAPTEE  II 

I  PERCEIVE,  with  joy,  my  most  valued  friend,  that  the  cloud 
of  your  displeasure  has  passed  away ;  the  light  of  your 
countenance  blesses  me  once  more,  and  you  desire  the  con- 
tinuation of  my  story :  therefore,  without  more  ado,  you  shall 
have  it. 

I  think  the  day  I  last  mentioned  was  a  certain  Sunday, 
the  latest  in  the  October  of  1827.  On  the  following  Tuesday 
I  was  out  with  my  dog  and  gun,  in  pursuit  of  such  game  as 
I  could  find  within  the  territory  of  Linden-Car;  but  find- 
ing none  at  all,  I  turned  my  arms  against  the  hawks  and 
carrion  crows,  whose  depredations,  as  I  suspected,  had  de- 
prived me  of  better  prey.  To  this  end  I  left  the  more  fre- 
quented regions,  the  wooded  valleys,  the  corn-fields,  and  the 
meadow-lands,  and  proceeded  to  mount  the  steep  acclivity 
of  Wildfell,  the  wildest  and  the  loftiest  eminence  in  our 
neighbourhood,  where,  as  you  ascend,  the  hedges,  as  well  as 
the  trees,  become  scanty  and  stunted,  the  former,  at  length, 
giving  place  to  rough  stone  fences,  partly  greened  over  with 
ivy  and  moss,  the  latter  to  larches  and  Scotch  fir-trees,  or 
isolated  blackthorns.  The  fields,  being  rough  and  stony,  and 
wholly  unfit  for  the  plough,  were  mostly  devoted  to  the 
pasturing  of  sheep  and  cattle ;  the  soil  was  thin  and  poor  : 
bits  of  grey  rock  here  and  there  peeped  out  from  the  grassy 
hillocks  ;  bilberry-plants  and  heather — relics  of  more  savage 
wildness — grew  under  the  walls  ;  and  in  many  of  the  en- 
closures, ragweeds  and  rushes  usurped  supremacy  over  the 
scanty  herbage  ;  but  these  were  not  my  property. 

Near  the  top  of  this  hill,  about  two  miles  from  Linden- 
Car,  stood  Wildfell  Hall,  a  superannuated  mansion  of  the 


14  THE  TENANT  OF 

Elizabethan  era,  built  of  dark  grey  stone,  venerable  and 
picturesque  to  look  at,  but  doubtless,  cold  and  gloomy  enough 
to  inhabit,  with  its  thick  stone  mullions  and  little  latticed 
panes,  its  time-eaten  air-holes,  and  its  too  lonely,  too  un- 
sheltered situation, — only  shielded  from  the  war  of  wind  and 
weather  by  a  group  of  Scotch  firs,  themselves  half  blighted 
with  storms,  and  looking  as  stern  and  gloomy  as  the  Hall 
itself.  Behind  it  lay  a  few  desolate  fields,  and  then  the 
brown  heath-clad  summit  of  the  hill ;  before  it  (enclosed  by 
stone  walls,  and  entered  by  an  iron  gate,  with  large  balls  of 
grey  granite — similar  to  those  which  decorated  the  roof  and 
gables — surmounting  the  gate-posts)  was  a  garden, — once 
stocked  with  such  hard  plants  and  flowers  as  could  best 
brook  the  soil  and  climate,  and  such  trees  and  shrubs  as 
could  best  endure  the  gardener's  torturing  shears,  and  most 
readily  assume  the  shapes  he  chose  to  give  them, — now, 
having  been  left  so  many  years  untilled  and  untrimmed, 
abandoned  to  the  weeds  and  the  grass,  to  the  frost  and  the 
wind,  the  rain  and  the  drought,  it  presented  a  very  singular 
appearance  indeed.  The  close  green  walls  of  privet,  that 
had  bordered  the  principal  walk,  were  two-thirds  withered 
away,  and  the  rest  grown  beyond  all  reasonable  bounds  ; 
the  old  boxwood  swan,  that  sat  beside  the  scraper,  had  lost 
its  neck  and  half  its  body  :  the  castellated  towers  of  laurel  in 
the  middle  of  the  garden,  the  gigantic  warrior  that  stood  on 
one  side  of  the  gateway,  and  the  lion  that  guarded  the  other, 
were  sprouted  into  such  fantastic  shapes  as  resembled 
nothing  either  in  heaven  or  earth,  or  in  the  waters  under  the 
earth  ;  but,  to  my  young  imagination,  they  presented  all  of 
them  a  goblinish  appearance,  that  harmonised  well  with  the 
ghostly  legions  apd  dark  traditions  our  old  nurse  had  told  us 
respecting  the  haunted  hall  and  its  departed  occupants. 

I  had  succeeded  in  killing  a  hawk  and  two  crows  when  I 
came  within  sight  of  the  mansion  ;  and  then,  relinquishing 
further  depredations,  I  sauntered  on,  to  have  a  look  at  the  old 
place,  and  see  what  changes  had  been  wrought  in  it  by  its 
new  inhabitant.  I  did  not  like  to  go  quite  to  the  front  and 


WILDFELL  HALL  15 

stare  in  at  the  gate ;  but  I  paused  beside  the  garden  wall,  and 
looked,  ar>d  saw  no  change — except  in  one  wing,  where  the 
broken  windows  and  dilapidated  roof  had  evidently  been  re- 
paired, and  where  a  thin  wreath  of  smoke  was  curling  up  from 
the  stack  of  chimneys. 

While  I  thus  stood,  leaning  on  my  gun,  and  looking  up 
at  the  dark  gables,  sunk  in  an  idle  reverie,  weaving  a  tissue 
of  wayward  fancies,  in  which  old  associations  and  the  fair 
young  hermit,  now  within  those  walls,  bore  a  nearly  equal 
part,  I  heard  a  slight  rustling  and  scrambling  just  within  the 
garden ;  and,  glancing  in  the  direction  whence  the  sound 
proceeded,  I  beheld  a  tiny  hand  elevated  above  the  wall :  it 
clung  to  the  topmost  stone,  and  then  another  little  hand  was 
raised  to  take  a  firmer  hold,  and  then  appeared  a  small  white 
forehead,  surmounted  with  wreaths  of  light  brown  hair,  with 
a  pair  of  deep  blue  eyes  beneath,  and  the  upper  portion  of  a 
diminutive  ivory  nose. 

The  eyes  did  not  notice  me,  but  sparkled  with  glee  on 
beholding  Sancho,  my  beautiful  black  and  white  setter,  that 
was  coursing  about  the  field  with  its  muzzle  to  the  ground. 
The  little  creature  raised  its  face  and  called  aloud  to  the  dog. 
The  good-natured  animal  paused,  looked  up,  and  wagged 
his  tail,  but  made  no  further  advances.  The  child  (a  little 
boy,  apparently  about  five  years  old)  scrambled  up  to  the  top 
of  the  wall,  and  called  again  and  again  ;  but  finding  this  of 
no  avail,  apparently  made  up  his  mind,  like  Mahomet,  to  go 
to  the  mountain,  since  the  mountain  would  not  come  to  him, 
and  attempted  to  get  over ;  but  a  crabbed  old  cherry-tree, 
that  grew  hard  by,  caught  him  by  the  frock  in  one  of  its 
crooked  scraggy  arms  that  stretched  over  the  wall.  In 
attempting  to  disengage  himself  his  foot  slipped,  and  down 
he  tumbled — but  not  to  the  earth  ; — the  tree  still  kept  him 
suspended.  There  was  a  silent  struggle,  and  then  a  piercing 
shriek ; — but,  in  an  instant,  I  had  dropped  my  gun  on  the 
grass,  and  caught  the  little  fellow  in  my  arms. 

I  wiped  his  eyes  with  his  frock,  told  him  he  was  all  right, 
and  called  Sancho  to  pacify  him.  He  was  just  putting  his 


16  THE  TENANT  OF 

little  hand  on  the  dog's  neck  and  beginning  to  smile  through 
his  tears,  when  I  heard  behind  me  a  click  of  the  iron  gate, 
and  a  rustle  of  female  garments,  and  lo  !  Mrs.  Graham  darted 
upon  me — her  neck  uncovered,  her  black  locks  streaming  in 
the  wind. 

'  Give  me  the  child  !  '  she  said,  in  a  voice  scarce  louder 
than  a  whisper,  but  with  a  tone  of  startling  vehemence,  and, 
seizing  the  boy,  she  snatched  him  from  me,  as  if  some  dire 
contamination  were  in  my  touch,  and  then  stood  with  one 
hand  firmly  clasping  his,  the  other  on  his  shoulder,  fixing 
upon  me  her  large,  luminous  dark  eyes — pale,  breathless, 
quivering  with  agitation. 

'  I  was  not  harming  the  child,  madam,'  said  I,  scarce 
knowing  whether  to  be  most  astonished  or  displeased ;  '  he  was 
tumbling  off  the  wall  there ;  and  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to 
catch  him,  while  he  hung  suspended  headlong  from  that  tree, 
and  prevent  I  know  not  what  catastrophe.' 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,'  stammered  she ; — suddenly 
calming  down, — the  light  of  reason  seeming  to  break  upon  her 
beclouded  spirit,  and  a  faint  blush  mantling  on  her  cheek — 
'  I  did  not  know  you ; — and  I  thought ' 

She  stooped  to  kiss  the  child,  and  fondly  clasped  her  arm 
round  his  neck. 

'  You  thought  I  was  going  to  kidnap  your  son,  I  suppose?' 

She  stroked  his  head  with  a  half -embarrassed  laugh,  and 
replied, — '  I  did  not  know  he  had  attempted  to  climb  the  wall. 
— I  have  the  pleasure  of  addressing  Mr.  Markham,  I  believe  ? ' 
she  added,  somewhat  abruptly. 

I  bowed,  but  ventured  to  ask  how  she  knew  me. 

'  Your  sister  called  here,  a  few  days  ago,  with  Mrs. 
Markham.' 

'Is  the  resemblance  so  strong  then?'  I  asked,  in  some 
surprise,  and  not  so  greatly  flattered  at  the  idea  as  I  ought 
to  have  been. 

'  There  is  a  likeness  about  the  eyes  and  complexion  I 
think,'  replied  she,  somewhat  dubiously  surveying  my  face ; 
— '  and  I  think  I  saw  you  at  church  on  Sunday.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  17 

I  smiled. — There  was  something  either  in  that  smile  or  the 
recollections  it  awakened  that  was  particularly  displeasing  to 
her,  for  she  suddenly  assumed  again  that  proud,  chilly  look 
that  had  so  unspeakably  roused  my  aversion  at  church — a 
look  of  repellent  scorn,  so  easily  assumed,  and  so  entirely 
without  the  least  distortion  of  a  single  feature,  that,  while 
there,  it  seemed  like  the  natural  expression  of  the  face,  and 
was  the  more  provoking  to  me,  because  I  could  not  think  it 
affected. 

'  Good-morning,  Mr.  Markham,'  said  she ;  and  without 
another  word  or  glance,  she  withdrew,  with  her  child,  into 
the  garden ;  and  I  returned  home,  angry  and  dissatisfied — 
I  could  scarcely  tell  you  why,  and  therefore  will  not 
attempt  it. 

I  only  stayed  to  put  away  my  gun  and  powder-horn,  and 
givo  some  requisite  directions  to  one  of  the  farming-men,  and 
then  repaired  to  the  vicarage,  to  solace  my  spirit  and  soothe 
my  ruffled  temper  with  the  company  and  conversation  of 
Eliza  Millward. 

I  found  her,  as  usual,  busy  with  some  piece  of  soft  em- 
broidery (the  mania  for  Berlin  wools  had  not  yet  commenced), 
while  her  sister  was  seated  at  the  chimney-corner,  with  the 
cat  on  her  knee,  mending  a  heap  of  stockings. 

1  Mary — Mary  !  put  them  away  ! '  Eliza  was  hastily  say- 
ing, just  as  I  entered  the  room. 

1  Not  I,  indeed  1 '  was  the  phlegmatic  reply  ;  and  my  ap- 
pearance prevented  further  discussion. 

'  You're  so  unfortunate,  Mr.  Markham ! '  observed  the 
younger  sister,  with  one  of  her  arch,  sidelong  glances. 
'  Papa's  just  gone  out  into  the  parish,  and  not  likely  to  be 
back  for  an  hour ! ' 

'  Never  mind  ;  I  can  manage  to  spend  a  few  minutes  with 
his  daughters,  if  they'll  allow  me,'  said  I,  bringing  a  chair  to 
the  fire,  and  seating  myself  therein,  without  waiting  to  be 
asked. 

'  Well,  if  you'll  be  very  good  and  amusing,  we  shall  not 
object,' 


18  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  Let  your  permission  be  unconditional,  pray  ;  for  I  came 
not  to  give  pleasure,  but  to  seek  it,'  I  answered. 

However,  I  thought  it  but  reasonable  to  make  some  slight 
exertion  to  render  my  company  agreeable ;  and  what  little 
effort  I  made,  was  apparently  pretty  successful,  for  Miss 
Eliza  was  never  in  a  better  humour.  We  seemed,  indeed,  to 
be  mutually  pleased  with  each  other,  and  managed  to  main- 
tain between  us  a  cheerful  and  animated  though  not  very 
profound  conversation.  It  was  little  better  than  a  Ute-d-t&te, 
for  Miss  Millward  never  opened  her  lips,  except  occasionally 
to  correct  some  random  assertion  or  exaggerated  expression 
of  her  sister's,  and  once  to  ask  her  to  pick  up  the  ball  of 
cotton  that  had  rolled  under  the  table.  I  did  this  myself, 
however,  as  in  duty  bound. 

'  Thank  you,  Mr.  Markham,'  said  she,  as  I  presented  it 
to  her.  '  I  would  have  picked  it  up  myself ;  only  I  did  not 
want  to  disturb  the  cat.' 

'  Mary,  dear,  that  won't  excuse  you  in  Mr.  Markham's 
eyes,'  said  Eliza  ;  '  he  hates  cats,  I  daresay,  as  cordially  as 
he  does  old  maids — like  all  other  gentlemen.  Don't  you,  Mr. 
Markham  ? ' 

'  I  believe  it  is  natural  for  our  unamiable  sex  to  dislike 
the  creatures,'  replied  I ;  'for  you  ladies  lavish  so  many 
caresses  upon  them.' 

'  Bless  them — little  darlings  ! '  cried  she,  in  a  sudden  burst 
of  enthusiasm,  turning  round  and  overwhelming  her  sister's 
pet  with  a  shower  of  kisses. 

'  Don  t,  Eliza ! '  said  Miss  Millward,  somewhat  gruffly,  as 
she  impatiently  pushed  her  away. 

But  it  was  time  for  me  to  be  going :  make  what  haste  I 
would,  I  should  still  be  too  late  for  tea ;  and  my  mother  was 
the  soul  of  order  and  punctuality. 

My  fair  friend  was  evidently  unwilling  to  bid  me  adieu. 
I  tenderly  squeezed  her  little  hand  at  parting  ;  and  she  repaid 
me  with  one  of  her  softest  smiles  and  most  bewitching  glances. 
I  went  home  very  happy,  with  a  heart  brimful  of  complacency 
for  myself,  and  overflowing  with  love  for  Eliza. 


CHAPTER  III 

Two  days  after,  Mrs.  Graham  called  at  Linden-Car,  contrary 
to  the  expectation  of  Rose,  who  entertained  an  idea  that  the 
mysterious  occupant  of  WUdfell  Hall  would  wholly  disregard 
the  common  observances  of  civilized  life, — in  which  opinion 
she  was  supported  by  the  Wilsons,  who  testified  that  neither 
their  call  nor  the  Millwards'  had  been  returned  as  yet.  Now, 
however,  the  cause  of  that  omission  was  explained,  though 
not  entirely  to  the  satisfaction  of  Rose.  Mrs.  Graham  had 
brought  her  child  with  her,  and  on  my  mother's  expressing 
surprise  that  he  could  walk  so  far,  she  replied, — '  It  is  a  long 
walk  for  him ;  but  I  must  have  either  taken  him  with  me, 
or  relinquished  the  visit  altogether;  for  I  never  leave  him 
alone ;  and  I  think,  Mrs.  Markham,  I  must  beg  you  to  make 
my  excuses  to  the  Millwards  and  Mrs.  Wilson,  when  you 
see  them,  as  I  fear  I  cannot  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling 
upon  them  till  my  little  Arthur  is  able  to  accompany  me.' 

'  But  you  have  a  servant,'  said  Rose ;  '  could  you  not 
leave  him  with  her  ? ' 

'  She  has  her  own  occupations  to  attend  to  ;  and  besides, 
she  is  too  old  to  run  after  a  child,  and  he  is  too  mercurial  to 
be  tied  to  an  elderly  woman.' 

'  But  you  left  him  to  come  to  church.' 

'  Yes,  once ;  but  I  would  not  have  left  him  for  any  other 
purpose ;  and  I  think,  in  future,  I  must  contrive  to  bring  him 
with  me,  or  stay  at  home.' 

'  Is  he  so  mischievous  ? '  asked  my  mother,  considerably 
shocked. 

'  No,'  replied  the  lady,  sadly  smiling,  as  she  stroked  the 


20  THE  TENANT   OF 

wavy  locks  of  her  son,  who  was  seated  on  a  low  stool  at  her 
feet ;  '  but  he  is  my  only  treasure,  and  I  am  his  only  friend  : 
so  we  don't  like  to  be  separated.' 

'  But,  my  dear,  I  call  that  doting,'  said  my  plain-spoken 
parent.  '  You  should  try  to  suppress  such  foolish  fondness, 
as  well  to  save  your  son  from  ruin  as  yourself  from  ridi- 
cule.' 

'  Euin  !  Mrs.  Markham  ! ' 

'  Yes ;  it  is  spoiling  the  child.  Even  at  his  age,  he  ought 
not  to  be  always  tied  to  his  mother's  apron-string ;  he  should 
learn  to  be  ashamed  of  it.' 

'  Mrs.  Markham,  I  beg  you  will  not  say  such  things,  in  his 
presence,  at  least.  I  trust  my  son  will  never  be  ashamed  to 
love  his  mother ! '  said  Mrs.  Graham,  with  a  serious  energy 
that  startled  the  company. 

My  mother  attempted  to  appease  her  by  an  explanation ; 
but  she  seemed  to  think  enough  had  been  said  on  the  subject, 
and  abruptly  turned  the  conversation. 

'  Just  as  I  thought,'  said  I  to  myself :  '  the  lady's  temper 
is  none  of  the  mildest,  notwithstanding  her  sweet,  pale  face 
and  lofty  brow,  where  thought  and  suffering  seem  equally  to 
have  stamped  their  impress.' 

All  this  time  I  was  seated  at  a  table  on  the  other  side  of 
the  room,  apparently  immersed  in  the  perusal  of  a  volume  of 
the  Farmer's  Magazine,  which  I  happened  to  have  been 
reading  at  the  moment  of  our  visitor's  arrival ;  and,  not 
choosing  to  be  over  civil,  I  had  merely  bowed  as  she  entered, 
and  continued  my  occupation  as  before. 

In  a  little  while,  however,  I  was  sensible  that  some  one 
was  approaching  me,  with  a  light,  but  slow  and  hesitating 
tread.  It  was  little  Arthur,  irresistibly  attracted  by  my  dog 
Sancho,  that  was  lying  at  my  feet.  On  looking  up  I  beheld 
him  standing  about  two  yards  off,  with  his  clear  blue  eyes 
wistfully  gazing  on  the  dog,  transfixed  to  the  spot,  not  by 
fear  of  the  animal,  but  by  a  timid  disinclination  to  approach 
its  master.  A  little  encouragement,  however,  induced  him  to 
come  forward.  The  child,  though  shy,  was  not  sullen.  In  a 


WILDFELL   HALL  21 

minute  he  was  kneeling  on  the  carpet,  with  his  arms  round 
Sancho's  neck,  and,  in  a  minute  or  two  more,  the  little  fellow 
was  seated  on  my  knee,  surveying  with  eager  interest  the 
various  specimens  of  horses,  cattle,  pigs,  and  model  farms 
portrayed  in  the  volume  before  me.  I  glanced  at  his  mother 
now  and  then  to  see  how  she  relished  the  new-sprung  inti- 
macy ;  and  I  saw,  by  the  unquiet  aspect  of  her  eye,  that  for 
some  reason  or  other  she  was  uneasy  at  the  child's  position. 

'  Arthur,'  said  she,  at  length,  '  come  here.  You  are 
troublesome  to  Mr.  Markham  :  he  wishes  to  read.' 

'  By  no  means,  Mrs.  Graham ;  pray  let  him  stay.  I  am 
as  much  amused  as  he  is/  pleaded  I.  But  still,  with  hand 
and  eye,  she  silently  called  him  to  her  side. 

'  No,  mamma,'  said  the  child ;  '  let  me  look  at  these 
pictures  first ;  and  then  I'll  come,  and  tell  you  all  about  them.' 

'  We  are  going  to  have  a  small  party  on  Monday,  the  fifth 
of  November,'  said  my  mother ;  '  and  I  hope  you  will  not 
refuse  to  make  one,  Mrs.  Graham.  You  can  bring  your  little 
boy  with  you,  you  know — I  daresay  we  shall  be  able  to 
amuse  him ; — and  then  you  can  make  your  own  apologies  to 
the  Millwards  and  Wilsons — they  will  all  be  here,  I  expect.' 

'  Thank  you,  I  never  go  to  parties.' 

'  Oh !  but  this  will  be  quite  a  family  concern — early  hours, 
and  nobody  here  but  ourselves,  and  just  the  Millwards  and 
Wilsons,  most  of  whom  you  already  know,  and  Mr.  Lawrence, 
your  landloi'd,  with  whom  you  ought  to  make  acquaintance.' 

'  I  do  know  something  of  him — but  you  must  excuse 
me  this  time ;  for  the  evenings,  now,  are  dark  and  damp, 
and  Arthur,  I  fear,  is  too  delicate  to  risk  exposure  to  their 
influence  with  impunity.  We  must  defer  the  enjoyment  of 
your  hospitality  till  the  return  of  longer  days  and  warmer 
nights.' 

Eose,  now,  at  a  hint  from  my  mother,  produced  a  decanter 
of  wine,  with  accompaniments  of  glasses  and  cake,  from  the 
cupboard  and  the  oak  sideboard,  and  the  refreshment  was 
duly  presented  to  the  guests.  They  both  partook  of  the  cake, 
but  obstinately  refused  the  wine,  in  spite  of  their  hostess's 


22  THE  TENANT  OF 

hospitable  attempts  to  force  it  upon  them.  Arthur,  espe- 
cially shrank  from  the  ruby  nectar  as  if  in  terror  and  disgust, 
and  was  ready  to  cry  when  urged  to  take  it. 

'  Never  mind,  Arthur,'  said  his  mamma  ;  '  Mrs.  Markham 
thinks  it  will  do  you  good,  as  you  were  tired  with  your  walk  '> 
but  she  will  not  oblige  you  to  take  it ! — I  daresay  you  will 
do  very  well  without.  He  detests  the  very  sight  of  wine,' 
she  added,  '  and  the  smell  of  it  almost  makes  him  sick.  I 
have  been  accustomed  to  make  him  swallow  a  little  wine  or 
weak  spirits-and-water,  by  way  of  medicine,  when  he  was 
sick,  and,  in  fact,  I  have  done  what  I  could  to  make  him 
hate  them.' 

Everybody  laughed,  except  the  young  widow  and  her  son. 

'  Well,  Mrs.  Graham,'  said  my  mother,  wiping  the  tears 
of  merriment  from  her  bright  blue  eyes — '  well,  you  surprise 
me  !  I  really  gave  you  credit  for  having  more  sense. — The 
poor  child  will  be  the  veriest  milksop  that  ever  was  sopped ! 
Only  think  what  a  man  you  will  make  of  him,  if  you  persist 
in— 

'  I  think  it  a  very  excellent  plan,'  interrupted  Mrs.  Graham, 
with  imperturbable  gravity.  '  By  that  means  I  hope  to  save 
him  from  one  degrading  vice  at  least.  I  wish  I  could  render 
the  incentives  to  every  other  equally  innoxious  in  his  case.' 

'  But  by  such  means,'  said  I,  '  you  will  never  render  him 
virtuous. — What  is  it  that  constitutes  virtue,  Mrs.  Graham  ? 
Is  it  the  circumstance  of  being  able  and  willing  to  resist 
temptation  ;  or  that  of  having  no  temptations  to  resist  ? — Is 
he  a  strong  man  that  overcomes  great  obstacles  and  performs 
surprising  achievements,  though  by  dint  of  great  muscular 
exertion,  and  at  the  risk  of  some  subsequent  fatigue,  or  he 
that  sits  in  his  chair  all  day,  with  nothing  to  do  more 
laborious  than  stirring  the  fire,  and  carrying  his  food  to  his 
mouth?  If  you  would  have  your  son  to  walk  honourably 
through  the  world,  you  must  not  attempt  to  clear  the  stones 
from  his  path,  but  teach  him  to  walk  firmly  over  them — not 
insist  upon  leading  him  by  the  hand,  but  let  him  learn  to 
go  alone,' 


WILDFELL  HALL  23 

'  I  will  lead  him  by  the  hand,  Mr.  Markham,  till  he  has 
strength  to  go  alone  ;  and  I  will  clear  as  many  stones  from 
his  path  as  I  can,  and  teach  him  to  avoid  the  rest — or  walk 
firmly  over  them,  as  you  say ; — for  when  I  have  done  my 
utmost,  in  the  way  of  clearance,  there  will  still  be  plenty  left 
to  exercise  all  the  agility,  steadiness,  and  circumspection 
he  will  ever  have. — It  is  all  very  well  to  talk  about  noble 
resistance,  and  trials  of  virtue  ;  but  for  fifty — or  five  hundred 
men  that  have  yielded  to  temptation,  show  me  one  that  has 
had  virtue  to  resist.  And  why  should  I  take  it  for  granted 
that  my  son  will  be  one  in  a  thousand? — and  not  rather 

prepare  for  the  worst,  and  suppose  he  will  be  like  his like 

the  rest  of  mankind,  unless  I  take  care  to  prevent  it  ? ' 

'  You  are  very  complimentary  to  us  all,'  I  observed. 

'I  know  nothing  about  you — I  speak  of  those  I  do 
know — and  when  I  see  the  whole  race  of  mankind  (with  a 
few  rare  exceptions)  stumbling  and  blundering  along  the  path 
of  life,  sinking  into  every  pitfall,  and  breaking  their  shins  over 
every  impediment  that  lies  in  their  way,  shall  I  not  use  all 
the  means  in  my  power  to  insure  for  him  a  smoother  and  a 
safer  passage  ? ' 

'  Yes,  but  the  surest  means  will  be  to  endeavour  to  fortify 
him  against  temptation,  not  to  remove  it  out  of  his  way.' 

'  I  will  do  both,  Mr.  Markham.  God  knows  he  will  have 
temptations  enough  to  assail  him,  both  from  within  and 
without,  when  I  have  done  all  I  can  to  render  vice  as  un- 
inviting to  him,  as  it  is  abominable  in  its  own  nature — I 
myself  have  had,  indeed,  but  few  incentives  to  what  the 
world  calls  vice,  but  yet  I  have  experienced  temptations  and 
trials  of  another  kind,  that  have  required,  On  many  occasions, 
more  watchfulness  and  firmness  to  resist  than  I  have  hitherto 
been  able  to  muster  against  them.  And  this,  I  believe,  is 
what  most  others  would  acknowledge  who  are  accustomed 
to  reflection,  and  wishful  to  strive  against  their  natural 
corruptions.' 

'  Yes,'  said  my  mother,  but  half  apprehending  her  drift ; 
'  but  you  would  not  judge  of  a  boy  by  yourself — and,  my 


24  THE   TENANT  OF 

dear  Mrs.  Graham,  let  me  warn  you  in  good  time  against  the 
error — the  fatal  error,  I  may  call  it — of  taking  that  boy's 
education  upon  yourself.  Because  you  are  clever  in  some 
things  and  well  informed,  you  may  fancy  yourself  equal  to 
the  task ;  but  indeed  you  are  not ;  and  if  you  persist  in 
the  attempt,  believe  me  you  will  bitterly  repent  it  when  the 
mischief  is  done.' 

'  I  am  to  send  him  to  school,  I  suppose,  to  learn  to  despise 
his  mother's  authority  and  affection ! '  said  the  lady,  with 
rather  a  bitter  smile. 

'  Oh,  no  ! — But  if  you  would  have  a  boy  to  despise  his 
mother,  let  her  keep  him  at  home,  and  spend  her  life  in 
petting  him  up,  and  slaving  to  indulge  his  follies  and 
caprices.' 

'•  I  perfectly  agree  with  you,  Mrs.  Markham  ;  but  nothing 
can  be  further  from  my  principles  and  practice  than  such 
criminal  weakness  as  that.' 

'  Well,  but  you  will  treat  him  like  a  girl — you'll  spoil  his 
spirit,  and  make  a  mere  Miss  Nancy  of  him — you  will, 
indeed,  Mrs.  Graham,  whatever  you  may  think.  But  I'll 
get  Mr.  Millward  to  talk  to  you  about  it : — he'll  tell  you  the 
consequences  ; — he'll  set  it  before  you  as  plain  as  the  day ; — 
and  tell  you  what  you  ought  to  do,  and  all  about  it ; — and, 
I  don't  doubt,  he'll  be  able  to  convince  you  in  a  minute.' 

'  No  occasion  to  trouble  the  vicar,'  said  Mrs.  Graham, 
glancing  at  me — I  suppose  I  was  smiling  at  my  mother's 
unbounded  confidence  in  that  worthy  gentleman — '  Mr. 
Markham  here  thinks  his  powers  of  conviction  at  least  equal 
to  Mr.  Millward's.  If  I  hear  not  him,  neither  should  I  be 
convinced  though  one  rose  from  the  dead,  he  would  tell  you. 
Well,  Mr.  Markham,  you  that  maintain  that  a  boy  should 
not  be  shielded  from  evil,  but  sent  out  to  battle  against  it, 
alone  and  unassisted — not  taught  to  avoid  the  snares  of  life, 
but  boldly  to  rush  into  them,  or  over  them,  as  he  may — to 
seek  danger,  rather  than  shun  it,  and  feed  his  virtue  by 
temptation, — would  you ? ' 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Graham — but  you  get  on  too 


WILDFELL  HALL  25 

fast.  I  have  not  yet  said  that  a  boy  should  be  taught  to  rush 
into  the  snares  of  life, — or  even  wilfully  to  seek  temptation  for 
the  sake  of  exercising  his  virtue  by  overcoming  it ; — I  only 
say  that  it  is  better  to  arm  and  strengthen  your  hero,  than  to 
disarm  and  enfeeble  the  foe ; — and  if  you  were  to  rear  an  oak 
sapling  in  a  hothouse,  tending  it  carefully  night  and  day, 
and  shielding  it  from  every  breath  of  wind,  you  could  not 
expect  it  to  become  a  hardy  tree,  like  that  which  has  grown 
up  on  the  mountain-side,  exposed  to  all  the  action  of  the 
elements,  and  not  even  sheltered  from  the  shock  of  the 
tempest.' 

'  Granted ; — but  would  you  use  the  same  argument  with 
regard  to  a  girl  ? ' 

'  Certainly  not.' 

'  No ;  you  would  have  her  to  be  tenderly  and  delicately 
nurtured,  like  a  hot-house  plant — taught  to  cling  to  others 
for  direction  and  support,  and  guarded,  as  much  as  possible, 
from  the  very  knowledge  of  evil.  But  will  you  be  so  good 
as  to  inform  me  why  you  make  this  distinction  ?  Is  it  that 
you  think  she  has  no  virtue  ? ' 

'  Assuredly  not.' 

'  Well,  but  you  affirm  that  virtue  is  only  elicited  by 
temptation ; — and  you  think  that  a  woman  cannot  be  too 
little  exposed  to  temptation,  or  too  little  acquainted  with 
vice,  or  anything  connected  therewith.  It  must  be  either 
that  you  think  she  is  essentially  so  vicious,  or  so  feeble- 
minded, that  she  cannot  withstand  temptation, — and  though 
she  may  be  pure  and  innocent  as  long  as  she  is  kept  in 
ignorance  and  restraint,  yet,  being  destitute  of  real  virtue,  to 
teach  her  how  to  sin  is  at  once  to  make  her  a  siuner,  and  the 
greater  her  knowledge,  the  wider  her  liberty,  the  deeper  will 
be  her  depravity, — whereas,  in  the  nobler  sex,  there  is  a 
natural  tendency  to  goodness,  guarded  by  a  superior 
fortitude,  which,  the  more  it  is  exercised  by  trials  and 
dangers,  is  only  the  further  developed ' 

'  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  think  so ! '  I  interrupted  her 
at  last. 


26  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  Well,  then,  it  must  be  that  you  think  they  are  both  weak 
and  prone  to  err,  and  the  slightest  error,  the  merest  shadow 
of  pollution,  will  ruin  the  one,  while  the  character  of  the 
other  will  be  strengthened  and  embellished — his  education 
properly  finished  by  a  little  practical  acquaintance  with  for- 
bidden things.  Such  experience,  to  him  (to  use  a  trite 
simile),  will  be  like  the  storm  to  the  oak,  which,  though  it 
may  scatter  the  leaves,  and  snap  the  smaller  branches,  serves 
but  to  rivet  the  roots,  and  to  harden  and  condense  the  fibres 
of  the  tree.  You  would  have  us  encourage  our  sons  to  prove 
all  things  by  their  own  experience,  while  our  daughters  must 
not  even  profit  by  the  experience  of  others.  Now  I  would 
have  both  so  to  benefit  by  the  experience  of  others,  and  the 
precepts  of  a  higher  authority,  that  they  should  know  before- 
hand to  refuse  the  evil  and  choose  the  good,  and  require  no 
experimental  proofs  to  teach  them  the  evil  of  transgression. 
I  would  not  send  a  poor  girl  into  the  world,  unarmed  against 
her  foes,  and  ignorant  of  the  snares  that  beset  her  path ;  nor 
would  I  watch  and  guard  her,  till,  deprived  of  self-respect 
and  self-reliance,  she  lost  the  power  or  the  will  to  watch  and 
guard  herself ; — and  as  for  my  son — if  I  thought  he  would 
grow  up  to  be  what  you  call  a  man  of  the  world — one  that 
has  "  seen  life,"  and  glories  in  his  experience,  even  though 
he  should  so  far  profit  by  it  as  to  sober  down,  at  length,  into 
a  useful  and  respected  member  of  society — I  would  rather 
that  he  died  to-morrow  ! — rather  a  thousand  times ! '  she 
earnestly  repeated,  pressing  her  darling  to  her  side  and 
kissing  his  forehead  with  intense  affection.  He  had  already 
left  his  new  companion,  and  been  standing  for  some  time 
beside  his  mother's  knee,  looking  up  into  her  face,  and 
listening  in  silent  wonder  to  her  incomprehensible  discourse. 

4  Well !  you  ladies  must  always  have  the  last  word,  I 
suppose,'  said  I,  observing  her  rise,  and  begin  to  take  leave 
of  my  mother. 

4  You  may  have  as  many  words  as  you  please, — only  I 
can't  stay  to  hear  them.' 

'No;   that  is  the  way:    you  hear  just  as  much  of  an 


WILDFELL  HALL  ,27 

argument  as  you  please ;  and  the  rest  may  be  spoken  to  the 
wind.' 

1  If  you  are  anxious  to  say  anything  more  on  the  subject,' 
replied  she,  as  she  shook  hands  with  Eose,  '  you  must  bring 
your  sister  to  see  me  some  fine  day,  and  I'll  listen,  as 
patiently  as  you  could  wish,  to  whatever  you  please  to  say.  I 
would  rather  be  lectured  by  you  than  the  vicar,  because  I 
should  have  less  remorse  in  telling  you,  at  the  end  of  the 
discourse,  that  I  preserve  my  own  opinion  precisely  the 
same  as  at  the  beginning — as  would  be  the  case,  I  am 
persuaded,  with  regard  to  either  logician.' 

'  Yes,  of  course,'  replied  I,  determined  to  be  as  provoking 
as  herself ;  '  for  when  a  lady  does  consent  to  listen  to  an 
argument  against  her  own  opinions,  she  is  always  predeter- 
mined to  withstand  it — to  listen  only  with  her  bodily  ears, 
keeping  the  mental  organs  resolutely  closed  against  the 
strongest  reasoning.' 

'  Good-morning,  Mr.  Markham,'  said  my  fair  antagonist, 
with  a  pitying  smile ;  and  deigning  no  further  rejoinder,  she 
slightly  bowed,  and  was  about  to  withdraw ;  but  her  son, 
with  childish  impertinence,  arrested  her  by  exclaiming, — 
1  Mamma,  you  have  not  shaken  hands  with  Mr.  Markham  ! ' 

She  laughingly  turned  round  and  held  out  her  hand.  I 
gave  it  a  spiteful  squeeze,  for  I  was  annoyed  at  the  continual 
injustice  she  had  done  me  from  the  very  dawn  of  our 
acquaintance.  Without  knowing  anything  about  my  real 
disposition  and  principles,  she  was  evidently  prejudiced 
against  me,  and  seemed  bent  upon  showing  me  that  her 
opinions  respecting  me,  on  every  particular,  fell  far  below 
those  I  entertained  of  myself.  I  was  naturally  touchy,  or  it 
would  not  have  vexed  me  so  much.  Perhaps,  too,  I  was  a 
little  bit  spoiled  by  my  mother  and  sister,  and  some  other 
ladies  of  my  acquaintance ; — and  yet  I  was  by  no  means  a 
fop — of  that  I  am  fully  convinced,  whether  you  are  or  not. 


CHAPTER  IV 

OUR  party,  on  the  5th  of  N&vember,  passed  off  very  well, 
in  spite  of  Mrs.  Graham's  refusal  to  grace  it  with  her  presence. 
Indeed,  it  is  probable  that,  had  she  been  there,  there  would 
have  been  less  cordiality,  freedom,  and  frolic  amongst  us  than 
there  was  without  her. 

My  mother,  as  usual,  was  cheerful  and  chatty,  full  of 
activity  and  good-nature,  and  only  faulty  in  being  too 
anxious  to  make  her  guests  happy,  thereby  forcing  several 
of  them  to  do  what  their  soul  abhorred  in  the  way  of  eating 
or  drinking,  sitting  opposite  the  blazing  fire,  or  talking  when 
they  would  be  silent.  Nevertheless,  they  bore  it  very  well, 
being  all  in  their  holiday  humours. 

Mr.  Millward  was  mighty  in  important  dogmas  and 
sententious  jokes,  pompous  anecdotes  and  oracular  discourses, 
dealt  out  for  the  edification  of  the  whole  assembly  in  general, 
and  of  the  admiring  Mrs.  Markham,  the  polite  Mr.  Lawrence, 
the  sedate  Mary  Millward,  the  quiet  Richard  Wilson,  and 
the  matter-of-fact  Robert  in  particular, — as  being  the  most 
attentive  listeners. 

Mrs.  Wilson  was  more  brilliant  than  ever,  with  her 
budgets  of  fresh  news  and  old  scandal,  strung  together  with 
trivial  questions  and  remarks,  and  oft-repeated  observations, 
uttered  apparently  for  the  sole  purpose  of  denying  a  moment's 
rest  to  her  inexhaustible  organs  of  speech.  She  had  brought 
her  knitting  with  her,  and  it  seemed  as  if  her  tongue  had  laid 
a  wager  with  her  fingers,  to  outdo  them  in  swift  and  ceaseless 
motion. 

Her  daughter  Jane  was,  of  course,  as  graceful  and  elegant, 


WILDFELL  HALL  29 

as  witty  and  seductive,  as  she  could  possibly  manage  to  be  ; 
for  here  were  all  the  ladies  to  outshine,  and  all  the  gentlemen 
to  charm, — and  Mr.  Lawrence,  especially,  to  capture  and 
subdue.  Her  little  arts  to  effect  his  subjugation  were  too 
subtle  and  impalpable  to  attract  my  observation ;  but  I 
thought  there  was  a  certain  refined  affectation  of  superiority, 
and  an  ungenial  self-consciousness  about  her,  that  negatived 
all  her  advantages  ;  and  after  she  was  gone,  Eose  interpreted 
to  me  her  various  looks,  words,  and  actions  with  a  mingled 
acuteness  and  asperity  that  made  me  wonder,  equally,  at  the 
lady's  artifice  and  my  sister's  penetration,  and  ask  myself  if 
she  too  had  an  eye  to  the  squire — but  never  mind,  Halford ; 
she  had  not. 

Eichard  Wilson,  Jane's  younger  brother,  sat  in  a  corner, 
apparently  good-tempered,  but  silent  and  shy,  desirous  to 
escape  observation,  but  willing  enough  to  listen  and  observe  : 
and,  although  somewhat  out  of  his  element,  he  would  have 
been  happy  enough  in  his  own  quiet  way,  if  my  mother  could 
only  have  let  him  alone ;  but  in  her  mistaken  kindness,  she 
would  keep  persecuting  him  with  her  attentions — pressing 
upon  him  all  manner  of  viands,  under  the  notion  that  he 
was  too  bashful  to  help  himself,  and  obliging  him  to  shout 
across  the  room  his  monosyllabic  replies  to  the  numerous 
questions  and  observations  by  which  she  vainly  attempted  to 
draw  him  into  conversation. 

Eose  informed  me  that  he  never  would  have  favoured  us 
with  his  company  but  for  the  importunities  of  his  sister  Jane, 
who  was  most  anxious  to  show  Mr.  Lawrence  that  she  had 
at  least  one  brother  more  gentlemanly  and  refined  than 
Eobert.  That  worthy  individual  she  had  been  equally 
solicitous  to  keep  away ;  but  he  affirmed  that  he  saw  no 
reason  why  he  should  not  enjoy  a  crack  with  Markham  and 
the  old  lady  (my  mother  was  not  old,  really),  and  bonny 
Miss  Eose  and  the  parson,  as  well  as  the  best ; — and  he  was 
in  the  right  of  it  too.  So  he  talked  common-place  with  my 
mother  and  Eose,  and  discussed  parish  affairs  with  the  vicar, 
farming  matters  with  me,  and  politics  with  us  both. 


30  THE  TENANT  OF 

Mary  Millward  was  another  mute, — not  so  much  tormented 
with  cruel  kindness  as  Dick  Wilson,  because  she  had  a 
certain  short,  decided  way  of  answering  and  refusing,  and 
was  supposed  to  be  rather  sullen  than  diffident.  However 
that  might  be,  she  certainly  did  not  give  much  pleasure  tc 
the  company  ; — nor  did  she  appear  to  derive  much  from  it. 
Eliza  told  me  she  had  only  come  because  her  father  insisted 
upon  it,  having  taken  it  into  his  head  that  she  devoted 
herself  too  exclusively  to  her  household  duties,  to  the  neglect 
of  such  relaxations  and  innocent  enjoyments  as  were  proper 
to  her  age  and  sex.  She  seemed  to  me  to  be  good-humoured 
enough  on  the  whole.  Once  or  twice  she  was  provoked  to 
laughter  by  the  wit  or  the  merriment  of  some  favoured  indi- 
vidual amongst  us  ;  and  then  I  observed  she  sought  the  eye 
of  Richard  Wilson,  who  sat  over  against  her.  As  he  studied 
with  her  father,  she  had  some  acquaintance  with  him,  in  spite 
of  the  retiring  habits  of  both,  and  I  suppose  there  was  a  kind 
of  fellow-feeling  established  between  them. 

My  Eliza  was  charming  beyond  description,  coquettish 
without  affectation,  and  evidently  more  desirous  to  engage 
my  attention  than  that  of  all  the  room  besides.  Her  delight 
in  having  me  near  her,  seated  or  standing  by  her  side,  whis- 
pering in  her  ear,  or  pressing  her  hand  in  the  dance,  was 
plainly  legible  in  her  glowing  face  and  heaving  bosom,  how- 
ever belied  by  saucy  words  and  gestures.  But  I  had  better 
hold  my  tongue :  if  I  boast  of  these  things  now,  I  shall  have 
to  blush  hereafter. 

To  proceed,  then,  with  the  various  individuals  of  our 
party ;  Rose  was  simple  and  natural  as  usual,  and  full  of 
mirth  and  vivacity. 

Fergus  was  impertinent  and  absurd  ;  but  his  impertinence 
and  folly  served  to  make  others  laugh,  if  they  did  not  raise 
himself  in  their  estimation. 

And  finally  (for  I  omit  myself),  Mr.  Lawrence  was  gentle- 
manly and  inoffensive  to  all,  and  polite  to  the  vicar  and  the 
ladies,  especially  his  hostess  and  her  daughter,  and  Miss 
Wilson — misguided  man ;  he  had  not  the  taste  to  prefer  Eliza 


WILDFELL  HALL  31 

Millward.     Mr.  Lawrence  and  I  were  on  tolerably  intimate 
terms.     Essentially  of  reserved  habits,  and  but  seldom  quit- 
ting the  secluded  place  of  his  birth,  where  he  had  lived  in 
solitary  state  since  the  death  of  his  father,  he  had  neither  the 
opportunity  nor  the  inclination  for  forming  many  acquaint- 
ances ;    and,  of  all  he  had  ever  known,  I  (judging  by  the 
results)  was  the  companion  most  agreeable  to  his  taste.     I 
liked  the  man  well  enough,  but  he  was  too  cold,  and  shy,  and 
self-contained,  to  obtain  my  cordial  sympathies.     A  spirit  of 
candour  and  frankness,  when  wholly  unaccompanied  with 
coarseness,  he  admired  in  others,  but  he  could  not  acquire  it 
himself.     His  excessive  reserve  upon  all  his  own  concerns 
was,  indeed,  provoking  and  chilly  enough  ;    but  I  forgave  it, 
from  a  conviction  that  it  originated  less  in  pride  and  want  of 
confidence  in  his  friends,  than  in  a  certain  morbid  feeling  of 
delicacy,  and  a  peculiar  diffidence,  that  he  was  sensible  of, 
but  wanted  energy  to  overcome.     His. heart  was  like  a  sensi- 
tive plant,  that  opens  for  a  moment  in  the  sunshine,  but  curls 
up  and  shrinks  into  itself  at  the  slightest  touch  of  the  finger, 
or  the  lightest  breath  of  wind.     And,  upon  the  whole,  our 
intimacy  was  rather  a  mutual  predilection  than  a  deep  and 
solid  friendship,  such  as  has  since  arisen  between  myself  and 
you,  Halford,  whom,  in  spite  of  your  occasional  crustiness,  I 
can  liken  to  nothing  so  well  as  an  old  coat,  unimpeachable  in 
texture,  but  easy  and  loose — that  has  conformed  itself  to  the 
shape  of  the  wearer,  and  which  he  may  use  as  he  pleases, 
without  being  bothered  with  the  fear  of  spoiling  it ; — whereas 
Mr.  Lawrence  was  like  a  new  garment,  all  very  neat  and  trim 
to  look  at,  but  so  tight  in  the  elbows,  that  you  would  fear  to 
split  the  seams  by  the  unrestricted  motion  of  your  arms,  and 
so  smooth  and  fine  in  surface  that  you  scruple  to  expose  it  to 
a  single  drop  of  rain. 

Soon  after  the  arrival  of  the  guests,  my  mother  mentioned 
Mrs.  Graham,  regretted  she  was  not  there  to  meet  them,  and 
explained  to  the  Millwards  and  Wilsons  the  reasons  she  had 
given  for  neglecting  to  return  their  calls,  hoping  they  would 
excuse  her,  as  she  was  sure  she  did  not  mean  to  be  uncivil, 


32  THE  TENANT  OF 

and  would  be  glad  to  see  them  at  any  time. — '  But  she  is  a 
very  singular  lady,  Mr.  Lawrence,'  added  she ;  '  we  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  her — but  I  daresay  you  can  tell  us 
something  about  her,  for  she  is  your  tenant,  you  know, — and 
she  said  she  knew  you  a  little.' 

All  eyes  were  turned  to  Mr.  Lawrence.  I  thought  he 
looked  unnecessarily  confused  at  being  so  appealed  to. 

1 1,  Mrs.  Markham  1 '  said  he ;  '  you  are  mistaken — I  don't 
— that  is — I  have  seen  her,  certainly ;  but  I  am  the  last  per- 
son you  should  apply  to  for  information  respecting  Mrs. 
Graham.' 

He  then  immediately  turned  to  Rose,  and  asked  her  to 
favour  the  company  with  a  song,  or  a  tune  on  the  piano. 

'  No,'  said  she,  '  you  must  ask  Miss  Wilson  :  she  outshines 
us  all  in  singing,  and  music  too.' 

Miss  Wilson  demurred. 

'  She'll  sing  readily  enough/  said  Fergus,  '  if  you'll  Under- 
take to  stand  by  her,  Mr.  Lawrence,  and  turn  over  the  leaves 
for  her.' 

'  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  do  so,  Miss  Wilson  ;  will  you 
allow  me  ? ' 

She  bridled  her  long  neck  and  smiled,  and  suffered  him  to 
lead  her  to  the  instrument,  where  she  played  and  sang,  in 
her  very  best  style,  one  piece  after  another  ;  while  he  stood 
patiently  by,  leaning  one  hand  on  the  back  of  her  chair,  and 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  her  book  with  the  other.  Perhaps 
he  was  as  much  charmed  with  her  performance  as  she  was. 
It  was  all  very  fine  in  its  way ;  but  I  cannot  say  that  it  moved 
me  very  deeply.  There  was  plenty  of  skill  and  execution, 
but  precious  little  feeling. 

But  we  had  not  done  with  Mrs.  Graham  yet. 

1 1  don't  take  wine,  Mrs.  Markham,'  said  Mr.  Millward, 
upon  the  introduction  of  that  beverage  ;  '  I'll  take  a  little  of 
your  home-brewed  ale.  I  always  prefer  your  home-brewed 
to  anything  else.' 

Flattered  at  this  compliment,  my  mother  rang  the  bell, 
and  a  china  jug  of  our  best  ale  was  presently  brought  and 


WILDFELL  HALL  33 

set  before  the  worthy  gentleman  who  so  well  knew  how  to 
appreciate  its  excellences. 

'  Now  THIS  is  the  thing !  '  cried  he,  pouring  out  a  glass  of 
the  same  in  a  long  stream,  skilfully  directed  from  the  jug  to 
the  tumbler,  so  as  to  produce  much  foam  without  spilling  a 
drop ;  and,  having  surveyed  it  for  a  moment  opposite  the 
candle,  he  took  a  deep  draught,  and  then  smacked  his  lips, 
drew  a  long  breath,  and  refilled  his  glass,  my  mother  looking 
on  with  the  greatest  satisfaction. 

'There's  nothing  like  this,  Mrs.  Markham ! '  said  he.  'I 
always  maintain  that  there's  nothing  to  compare  with  your 
home-brewed  ale.' 

'  I'm  sure  I'm  glad  you  like  it,  sir.  I  always  look  after  the 
brewing  myself,  as  well  as  the  cheese  and  the  butter — I  like 
to  have  things  well  done,  while  we're  about  it.' 

1  Quite  right,  Mrs.  Markham  ! ' 

'  But  then,  Mr.  Millward,  you  don't  think  it  wrong  to  take 
a  little  wine  now  and  then — or  a  little  spirits  either ! '  said  my 
mother,  as  she  handed  a  smoking  tumbler  of  gin-and-water 
to  Mrs.  Wilson,  who  affirmed  that  wine  sat  heavy  on  her 
stomach,  and  whose  son  Eobert  was  at  that  moment  helping 
himself  to  a  pretty  stiff  glass  of  the  same. 

'  By  no  means  ! '  replied  the  oracle,  with  a  Jove-like  nod ; 
'  these  things  are  all  blessings  and  mercies,  if  we  only  knew 
how  to  make  use  of  them.' 

'But  Mrs.  Graham  doesn't  think  so.  You  shall  just 
hear  now  what  she  told  us  the  other  day — I  told  her  I'd  tell 
you.' 

And  my  mother  favoured  the  company  with  a  particular 
account  of  that  lady's  mistaken  ideas  and  conduct  regarding 
the  matter  in  hand,  concluding  with,  '  Now,  don't  you  think 
it  is  wrong  ?  ' 

'  Wrong  ! '  repeated  the  vicar,  with  more  than  common 
solemnity — '  criminal,  I  should  say — criminal !  Not  only  is 
it  making  a  fool  of  the  boy,  but  it  is  despising  the  gifts  of 
Providence,  and  teaching  him  to  trample  them  under  his 
feet.' 


34  THE  TENANT  OF 

He  then  entered  more  fully  into  the  question,  and 
explained  at  large  the  folly  and  impiety  of  such  a  proceeding. 
My  mother  heard  him  with  profoundest  reverence ;  and  even 
Mrs.  Wilson  vouchsafed  to  rest  her  tongue  for  a  moment,  and 
listen  in  silence,  while  she  complacently  sipped  her  gin-and- 
water.  Mr.  Lawrence  sat  with  his  elbow  on  the  table,  care- 
lessly playing  with  his  half -empty  wine-glass,  and  covertly 
smiling  to  himself. 

'  But  don't  you  think,  Mr.  Millward,'  suggested  he,  when 
at  length  that  gentleman  paused  in  his  discourse,  '  that  when 
a  child  may  be  naturally  prone  to  intemperance — by  the  fault 
of  its  parents  or  ancestors,  for  instance — some  precautions 
are  advisable?'  (Now  it  was  generally  believed  that  Mr. 
Lawrence's  father  had  shortened  his  days  by  intemperance.) 

'  Some  precautions,  it  may  be ;  but  temperance,  sir,  is 
one  thing,  and  abstinence  another.' 

'  But  I  have  heard  that,  with  some  persons,  temperance — 
that  is,  moderation — is  almost  impossible  ;  and  if  abstinence 
be  an  evil  (which  some  have  doubted),  no  one  will  deny  that 
excess  is  a  greater.  Some  parents  have  entirely  prohibited 
their  children  from  tasting  intoxicating  liquors;  but  a 
parent's  authority  cannot  last  for  ever  ;  children  are  naturally 
prone  to  hanker  after  forbidden  things ;  and  a  child,  in  such 
a  case,  would  be  likely  to  have  a  strong  curiosity  to  taste, 
and  try  the  effect  of  what  has  been  so  lauded  and  enjoyed  by 
others,  so  strictly  forbidden  to  himself — which  curiosity 
would  generally  be  gratified  on  the  first  convenient  oppor- 
tunity ;  and  the  restraint  once  broken,  serious  consequences 
might  ensue.  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  judge  of  such  matters, 
but  it  seems  to  me,  that  this  plan  of  Mrs.  Graham's,  as  you 
describe  it,  Mrs.  Markham,  extraordinary  as  it  may  be,  is  not 
without  its  advantages ;  for  here  you  see  the  child  is  de- 
livered at  once  from  temptation  ;  he  has  no  secret  curiosity, 
no  hankering  desire ;  he  is  as  well  acquainted  with  the 
tempting  liquors  as  he  ever  wishes  to  be ;  and  is  thoroughly 
disgusted  with  them,  without  having  suffered  from  their 
effects.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  35 

1  And  is  that  right,  sir  ?  Have  I  not  proven  to  you  how 
wrong  it  is — how  contrary  to  Scripture  and  to  reason, 
to  teach  a  child  to  look  with  contempt  and  disgust  upon 
the  blessings  of  Providence,  instead  of  to  use  them  aright  ?  ' 

I  You  may  consider  laudanum  a  blessing  of  Providence, 
sir,'  replied  Mr.  Lawrence,  smiling  ;  '  and  yet,  you  will  allow 
that  most  of  us  had  better  abstain  from  it,  even  in  modera- 
tion ;  but,'  added  he,  '  I  would  not  desire  you  to  follow  out 
my  simile  too  closely — in  witness  whereof  I  finish  my  glass.' 

'  And  take  another,  I  hope,  Mr.  Lawrence,'  said  my 
mother,  pushing  the  bottle  towards  him. 

He  politely  declined,  and  pushing  his  chair  a  little  away 
from  the  table,  leant  back  towards  me — I  was  seated  a  trifle 
behind,  on  the  sofa  beside  Eliza  Millward — and  carelessly 
asked  me  if  I  knew  Mrs.  Graham. 

'  I  have  met  her  once  or  twice,'  I  replied. 

'  What  do  you  think  of  her  ? ' 

I 1  cannot  say  that  I  like  her  much.     She  is  handsome — 
or  rather  I  should  say  distinguished  and  interesting — in  her 
appearance,  but  by  no  means  amiable — a  woman  liable  to 
take  strong  prejudices,  I  should  fancy,  and  stick  to  them 
through  thick  and  thin,  twisting  everything  into  conformity 
with  her  own  preconceived  opinions — too  hard,  too  sharp, 
too  bitter  for  my  taste.' 

He  made  no  reply,  but  looked  down  and  bit  his  lip,  and 
shortly  after  rose  and  sauntered  up  to  Miss  Wilson,  as  much 
repelled  by  me,  I  fancy,  as  attracted  by  her.  I  scarcely 
noticed  it  at  the  time,  but  afterwards  I  was  led  to  recall  this 
and  other  trifling  facts,  of  a  similar  nature,  to  my  remem- 
brance, when — but  I  must  not  anticipate. 

We  wound  up  the  evening  with  dancing — our  worthy 
pastor  thinking  it  no  scandal  to  be  present  on  the  occasion, 
though  one  of  the  village  musicians  was  engaged  to  direct 
our  evolutions  with  his  violin.  But  Mary  Millward  obsti- 
nately refused  to  join  us ;  and  so  did  Eichard  Wilson,  though 
my  mother  earnestly  entreated  him  to  do  so,  and  even 
offered  to  be  his  partner, 


36  THE  TENANT   OF 

We  managed  very  well  without  them,  however.  With  a 
single  set  of  quadrilles,  and  several  country  dances,  we 
carried  it  on  to  a  pretty  late  hour ;  and  at  length,  having 
called  upon  our  musician  to  strike  up  a  waltz,  I  was  just 
about  to  whirl  Eliza  round  in  that  delightful  dance,  ac- 
companied by  Lawrence  and  Jane  Wilson,  and  Fergus  and 
Rose,  when  Mr.  Millward  interposed  with : — '  No,  no ;  I 
don't  allow  that !  Come,  it's  time  to  be  going  now.' 

'  Oh,  no,  papa ! '  pleaded  Eliza. 

'  High  time,  my  girl — high  time !  Moderation  in  all 
things,  remember  !  That's  the  plan — "  Let  your  moderation 
be  known  unto  all  men  !  " 

But  in  revenge  I  followed  Eliza  into  the  dimly-lighted 
passage,  where,  under  pretence  of  helping  her  on  with  her 
shawl,  I  fear  I  must  plead  guilty  to  snatching  a  kiss  behind 
her  father's  back,  while  he  was  enveloping  his  throat  and 
chin  in  the  folds  of  a  mighty  comforter.  But  alas !  in  turn- 
ing round,  there  was  my  mother  close  beside  me.  The  con- 
sequence was,  that  no  sooner  were  the  guests  departed,  than 
I  was  doomed  to  a  very  serious  remonstrance,  which  un- 
pleasantly checked  the  galloping  course  of  my  spirits,  and 
made  a  disagreeable  close  to  the  evening. 

1  My  dear  Gilbert,'  said  she,  '  I  wish  you  wouldn't  do  so  ! 
You  know  how  deeply  I  have  your  advantage  at  heart,  how 
I  love  you  and  prize  you  above  everything  else  in  the  world, 
and  how  much  I  long  to  see  you  well  settled  in  life — and 
how  bitterly  it  would  grieve  me  to  see  you  married  to  that 
girl — or  any  other  in  the  neighbourhood.  What  you  see  in 
her  I  don't  know.  It  isn't  only  the  want  of  money  that  I 
think  about — nothing  of  the  kind — but  there's  neither  beauty, 
nor  cleverness,  nor  goodness,  nor  anything  else  that's  desir- 
able. If  you  knew  your  own  value,  as  I  do,  you  wouldn't 
dream  of  it.  Do  wait  awhile  and  see  !  If  you  bind  your- 
self to  her,  you'll  repent  it  all  your  lifetime  when  you  look 
round  and  see  how  many  better  there  are.  Take  my  word 
for  it,  you  will.' 

Well,  mother,  do  be  quiet  J— I  hate  to  be  Jectured ! — I'm. 


WILDFELL  HALL  37 

not  going  to  marry  yet,  I  tell  you  ;  but — dear  me  !  mayn't  I 
enjoy  myself  at  all  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  my  dear  boy,  but  not  in  that  way.  Indeed,  you 
shouldn't  do  such  things.  You  would  be  wronging  the  girl, 
if  she  were  what  she  ought  to  be  ;  but  I  assure  you  she  is  as 
artful  a  little  hussy  as  anybody  need  wish  to  see ;  and  you'll 
get  entangled  in  her  snares  before  you  know  where  you  are. 
And  if  you  marry  her,  Gilbert,  you'll  break  my  heart — so 
there's  an  end  of  it.' 

'  Well,  don't  cry  about  it,  mother,'  said  I,  for  the  tears 
were  gushing  from  her  eyes ;  '  there,  let  that  kiss  efface  the 
one  I  gave  Eliza ;  don't  abuse  her  any  more,  and  set  your 
mind  at  rest ;  for  I'll  promise  never — that  is,  I'll  promise  to 
think  twice  before  I  take  any  important  step  you  seriously 
disapprove  of.' 

So  saying,  I  lighted  my  candle,  and  went  to  bed,  consi- 
derably quenched  in  spirit. 


CHAPTEB  V 

IT  was  about  the  close  of  the  month,  that,  yielding  at  length 
to  the  urgent  importunities  of  Kose,  I  accompanied  her  in 
a  visit  to  Wildfell  Hall.  To  our  surprise,  we  were  ushered 
into  a  room  where  the  first  object  that  met  the  eye  was  a 
painter's  easel,  with  a  table  beside  it  covered  with  rolls  of 
canvas,  bottles  of  oil  and  varnish,  palette,  brushes,  paints,  &c. 
Leaning  against  the  wall  were  several  sketches  in  various 
stages  of  progression,  and  a  few  finished  paintings — mostly 
of  landscapes  and  figures. 

1 1  must  make  you  welcome  to  my  studio,'  said  Mrs. 
Graham  ;  '  there  is  no  fire  in  the  sitting-room  to-day,  and 
it  is  rather  too  cold  to  show  you  into  a  place  with  an  empty 
grate.' 

And  disengaging  a  couple  of  chairs  from  the  artistical 
lumber  that  usurped  them,  she  bid  us  be  seated,  and  resumed 
her  place  beside  the  easel — not  facing  it  exactly,  but  now 
and  then  glancing  at  the  picture  upon  it  while  she  conversed, 
and  giving  it  an  occasional  touch  with  her  brush,  as  if  she 
found  it  impossible  to  wean  her  attention  entirely  from  her 
occupation  to  fix  it  upon  her  guests.  It  was  a  view  of 
Wildfell  Hall,  as  seen  at  early  morning  from  the  field  below, 
rising  in  dark  relief  against  a  sky  of  clear  silvery  blue,  with 
a  few  red  streaks  on  the  horizon,  faithfully  drawn  and 
coloured,  and  very  elegantly  and  artistically  handled. 

'  I  see  your  heart  is  in  your  work,  Mrs.  Graham,'  observed 
I :  '  I  must  beg  you  to  go  on  with  it ;  for  if  you  suffer  our 
presence  to  interrupt  you,  we  shall  be  constrained  to  regard 
ourselves  as  unwelcome  intruders.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  39 

'  Oh,  no ! '  replied  she,  throwing  her  brush  on  to  the 
table,  as  if  startled  into  politeness.  '  I  am  not  so  beset  with 
visitors  but  that  I  can  readily  spare  a  few  minutes  to  the 
few  that  do  favour  me  with  their  company.' 

'You  have  almost  completed  your  painting,'  said  I, 
approaching  to  observe  it  more  closely,  and  surveying  it  with 
a  greater  degree  of  admiration  and  delight  than  I  cared  to 
express.  A  few  more  touches  in  the  foreground  will  finish  it, 
I  should  think.  But  why  have  you  called  it  Fernley  Manor, 

Cumberland,  instead  of  Wildfell  Hall, shire  ? '  I  asked, 

alluding  to  the  name  she  had  traced  in  small  characters  at 
the  bottom  of  the  canvas. 

But  immediately  I  was  sensible  of  having  committed  an 
act  of  impertinence  in  so  doing ;  for  she  coloured  and 
hesitated  ;  but  after  a  moment's  pause,  with  a  kind  of  desper- 
ate frankness,  she  replied  : — 

'  Because  I  have  friends — acquaintances  at  least — in  the 
world,  from  whom  I  desire  my  present  abode  to  be  concealed  ; 
and  as  they  might  see  the  picture,  and  might  possibly  recog- 
nise the  style  in  spite  of  the  false  initials  I  have  put  in  the 
corner,  I  take  the  precaution  to  give  a  false  name  to  the 
place  also,  in  order  to  put  them  on  a  wrong  scent,  if  they 
should  attempt  to  trace  me  out  by  it.' 

'  Then  you  don't  intend  to  keep  the  picture  ? '  said  I, 
anxious  to  say  anything  to  change  the  subject. 

'  No ;  I  cannot  afford  to  paint  for  my  own  amusement.' 

'  Mamma  sends  all  her  pictures  to  London,'  said  Arthur  ; 
'  and  somebody  sells  them  for  her  there,  and  sends  us  the 
money.' 

In  looking  round  upon  the  other  pieces,  I  remarked  a 
pretty  sketch  of  Lindenhope  from  the  top  of  the  hill ;  another 
view  of  the  old  hall  basking  in  the  sunny  haze  of  a  quiet 
summer  afternoon ;  and  a  simple  but  striking  little  picture 
of  a  child  brooding,  with  looks  of  silent  but  deep  and  sorrow- 
ful regret,  over  a  handful  of  withered  flowers,  with  glimpses 
of  dark  low  hills  and  autumnal  fields  behind  it,  and  a  dull 
beclouded  sky  above. 


40  THE  TENANT   OF 

'  You  see  there  is  a  sad  dearth  of  subjects,'  observed  the 
fair  artist.  '  I  took  the  old  hall  once  on  a  moonlight  night, 
and  I  suppose  I  must  take  it  again  on  a  snowy  winter's  day, 
and  then  again  on  a  dark  cloudy  evening  ;  for  I  really  have 
nothing  else  to  paint.  I  have  been  told  that  you  have  a  tine 
view  of  the  sea  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood.  Is  it 
true  ? — and  is  it  within  walking  distance  ? ' 

'  Yes,  if  you  don't  object  to  walking  four  miles — or  nearly 
so — little  short  of  eight  miles,  there  and  back — and  over  a 
somewhat  rough,  fatiguing  road.' 

'  In  what  direction  does  it  lie  ? ' 

I  described  the  situation  as  well  as  I  could,  and  was 
entering  upon  an  explanation  of  the  various  roads,  lanes,  and 
fields  to  be  traversed  in  order  to  reach  it,  the  goings  straight 
on,  and  turnings  to  the  right  and  the  left,  when  she  checked 
me  with, — 

'  Oh,  stop  !  don't  tell  me  now :  I  shall  forget  every  word 
of  your  directions  before  I  require  them.  I  shall  not  think 
about  going  till  next  spring ;  and  then,  perhaps,  I  may 
trouble  you.  At  present  we  have  the  winter  before  us, 
and ' 

She  suddenly  paused,  with  a  suppressed  exclamation, 
started  up  from  her  seat,  and  saying,  'Excuse  me  one 
moment,'  hurried  from  the  room,  and  shut  the  door  behind 
her. 

Curious  to  see  what  had  startled  her  so,  I  looked  towards 
the  window — for  her  eyes  had  been  carelessly  fixed  upon  it 
the  moment  before — and  just  beheld  the  skirts  of  a  man's 
coat  vanishing  behind  a  large  holly-bush  that  stood  between 
the  window  and  the  porch. 

4  It's  mamma's  friend,'  said  Arthur. 

Rose  and  I  looked  at  each  other. 

'  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  her  at  all,'  whispered 
Eose. 

The  child  looked  at  her  in  grave  surprise.  She  straight- 
way began  to  talk  to  him  on  indifferent  matters,  while  I 
amused  myself  with  looking  at  the  pictures.  There  was  one 


WILDFELL  HALL  41 

in  an  obscure  corner  that  I  had  not  before  observed.  It  was 
a  little  child,  seated  on  the  grass  with  its  lap  full  of  flowers. 
The  tiny  features  and  large  blue  eyes,  smiling  through  a  shock 
of  light  brown  curls,  shaken  over  the  forehead  as  it  bent 
above  its  treasure,  bore  sufficient  resemblance  to  those  of  the 
young  gentleman  before  me  to  proclaim  it  a  portrait  of  Arthur 
Graham  in  his  early  infancy. 

In  taking  this  up  to  bring  it  to  the  light,  I  discovered 
another  behind  it,  with  its  face  to  the  wall.  I  ventured  to 
take  that  up  too.  It  was  the  portrait  of  a  gentleman  in  the 
full  prime  of  youthful  manhood — handsome  enough,  and  not 
badly  executed ;  but  if  done  by  the  same  hand  as  the  others, 
it  was  evidently  some  years  before ;  for  there  was  far  more 
careful  minuteness  of  detail,  and  less  of  that  freshness  of 
colouring  and  freedom  of  handling  that  delighted  and  sur- 
prised me  in  them.  Nevertheless,  I  surveyed  it  with  consi- 
derable interest.  There  was  a  certain  individuality  in  the 
features  and  expression  that  stamped  it,  at  once,  a  successful 
likeness.  The  bright  blue  eyes  regarded  the  spectator  with 
a  kind  of  lurking  drollery — you  almost  expected  to  see  them 
wink  ;  the  lips — a  little  too  voluptuously  full — seemed  ready 
to  break  into  a  smile ;  the  warmly-tinted  cheeks  were 
embellished  with  a  luxuriant  growth  of  reddish  whiskers; 
while  the  bright  chestnut  hair,  clustering  in  abundant,  wavy 
curls,  trespassed  too  much  upon  the  forehead,  and  seemed  to 
intimate  that  the  owner  thereof  was  prouder  of  his  beauty 
than  his  intellect — as,  perhaps,  he  had  reason  to  be ;  and  yet 
he  looked  no  fool. 

I  had  not  had  the  portrait  in  my  hands  two  minutes 
before  the  fair  artist  returned. 

'  Only  some  one  come  about  the  pictures,'  said  she,  in 
apology  for  her  abrupt  departure  :  '  I  told  him  to  wait.' 

'  I  fear  it  will  be  considered  an  act  of  impertinence,'  said 
I,  '  to  presume  to  look  at  a  picture  that  the  artist  has  turned 
to  the  wall ;  but  may  I  ask ' 

'  It  is  an  act  of  very  great  impertinence,  sir ;  and  therefore 
I  beg  you  will  ask  nothing  about  it,  for  your  curiosity  will 


42  THE  TENANT  OF 

not  be  gratified/  replied  she,  attempting  to  cover  the  tart- 
ness of  her  rebuke  with  a  smile ;  but  I  could  see,  by  her  flushed 
cheek  and  kindling  eye,  that  she  was  seriously  annoyed. 

1 1  was  only  going  to  ask  if  you  had  painted  it  yourself,' 
said  I,  sulkily  resigning  the  picture  into  her  hands  ;  for 
without  a  grain  of  ceremony  she  took  it  from  me  ;  and  quickly 
restoring  it  to  the  dark  corner,  with  its  face  to  the  wall, 
placed  the  other  against  it  as  before,  and  then  turned  to  me 
and  laughed. 

But  I  was  in  no  humour  for  jesting.  I  carelessly  turned 
to  the  window,  and  stood  looking  out  upon  the  desolate 
garden,  leaving  her  to  talk  to  Eose  for  a  minute  or  two ;  and 
then,  telling  my  sister  it  was  time  to  go,  shook  hands  with 
the  little  gentleman,  coolly  bowed  to  the  lady,  and  moved 
towards  the  door.  But,  having  bid  adieu  to  Rose,  Mrs. 
Graham  presented  her  hand  to  me,  saying,  with  a  soft  voice, 
and  by  no  means  a  disagreeable  smile, — '  Let  not  the  sun  go 
down  upon  your  wrath,  Mr.  Markham.  I'm  sorry  I  offended 
you  by  my  abruptness.' 

When  a  lady  condescends  to  apologise,  there  is  no 
keeping  one's  anger,  of  course ;  so  we  parted  good  friends  for 
once ;  and  this  time  I  squeezed  her  hand  with  a  cordial,  not 
a  spiteful  pressure. 


CHAPTEE  VI 

DURING  the  next  four  months  I  did  not  enter  Mrs.  Graham's 
house,  nor  she  mine ;  but  still  the  ladies  continued  to  talk 
about  her,  and  still  our  acquaintance  continued,  though 
slowly,  to  advance.  As  for  their  talk,  I  paid  but  little  atten- 
tion to  that  (when  it  related  to  the  fair  hermit,  I  mean),  and 
the  only  information  I  derived  from  it  was,  that  one  fine  frosty 
day  she  had  ventured  to  take  her  little  boy  as  far  as  the 
vicarage,  and  that,  unfortunately,  nobody  was  at  home  but 
Miss  Millward  ;  nevertheless,  she  had  sat  a  long  time,  and, 
by  all  accounts,  they  had  found  a  good  deal  to  say  to  each 
other,  and  parted  with  a  mutual  desire  to  meet  again.  But 
Mary  liked  children,  and  fond  mammas  like  those  who  can 
duly  appreciate  their  treasures. 

But  sometimes  I  saw  her  myself,  not  only  when  she  came 
to  church,  but  when  she  was  out  on  the  hills  with  her  son, 
whether  taking  a  long,  purpose-like  walk,  or — on  special  fine 
days — leisurely  rambling  over  the  moor  or  the  bleak  pasture- 
lands,  surrounding  the  old  hall,  herself  with  a  book  in  her 
hand,  her  son  gambolling  about  her ;  and,  on  any  of  these 
occasions,  when  I  caught  sight  of  her  in  my  solitary  walks 
or  rides,  or  while  following  my  agricultural  pursuits,  I 
generally  contrived  to  meet  or  overtake  her,  for  I  rather  liked 
to  see  Mrs.  Graham,  and  to  talk  to  her,  and  I  decidedly  liked 
to  talk  to  her  little  companion,  whom,  when  once  the  ice  of 
his  shyness  was  fairly  broken,  I  found  to  be  a  very  amiable, 
intelligent,  and  entertaining  little  fellow ;  and  we  soon 
became  excellent  friends — how  much  to  the  gratification  of 
his  mamma  I  cannot  undertake  to  say.  I  suspected  at  first 


44  THE  TENANT  OF 

that  she  was  desirous  of  throwing  cold  water  on  this  growing 
intimacy — to  quench,  as  it  were,  the  kindling  flame  of  our 
friendship — but  discovering,  at  length,  in  spite  of  her  prejudice 
against  me,  that  I  was  perfectly  harmless,  and  even  well- 
intentioned,  and  that,  between  myself  and  my  dog,  her  son 
derived  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  from  the  acquaintance  that 
he  would  not  otherwise  have  known,  she  ceased  to  object,  and 
even  welcomed  my  coming  with  a  smile. 

As  for  Arthur,  he  would  shout  his  welcome  from  afar,  and 
run  to  meet  me  fifty  yards  from  his  mother's  side.  If  I 
happened  to  be  on  horseback  he  was  sure  to  get  a  canter  or 
a  gallop ;  or,  if  there  was  one  of  the  draught  horses  within 
an  available  distance,  he  was  treated  to  a  steady  ride  upon 
that,  which  served  his  turn  almost  as  well ;  but  his  mother 
would  always  follow  and  trudge  beside  him — not  so  much,  I 
believe,  to  ensure  his  safe  conduct,  as  to  see  that  I  instilled 
no  objectionable  notions  into  his  infant  mind,  for  she  was 
ever  on  the  watch,  and  never  would  allow  him  to  be  taken 
out  of  her  sight.  What  pleased  her  best  of  all  was  to  see 
him  romping  and  racing  with  Sancho,  while  I  walked  by  her 
side — not,  I  fear,  for  love  of  my  company  ( though  I  some- 
times deluded  myself  with  that  idea),  so  much  as  for  the 
delight  she  took  in  seeing  her  son  thus  happily  engaged  in 
the  enjoyment  of  those  active  sports  so  invigorating  to  his 
tender  frame,  yet  so  seldom  exercised  for  -want  of  playmates 
suited  to  his  years :  and,  perhaps,  her  pleasure  was 
sweetened  not  a  little  by  the  fact  of  my  being  with  her 
instead  of  with  him,  and  therefore  incapable  of  doing  him 
any  injury  directly  or  indirectly,  designedly  or  otherwise, 
small  thanks  to  her  for  that  same. 

But  sometimes,  I  believe,  she  really  had  some  little 
gratification  in  conversing  with  me ;  and  one  bright  February 
morning,  during  twenty  minutes'  stroll  along  the  moor,  she 
laid  aside  her  usual  asperity  and  reserve,  and  fairly  entered 
into  conversation  with  me,  discoursing  with  so  much 
eloquence  and  depth  of  thought  and  feeling  on  a  subject 
happily  coinciding  with  my  own  ideas,  and  looking  so 


WILDFELL  HALL  45 

beautiful  withal,  that  I  went  home  enchanted ;  and  on  the 
way  (morally)  started  to  find  myself  thinking  that,  after  all, 
it  would,  perhaps,  be  better  to  spend  one's  days  with  such  a 
woman  than  with  Eliza  Millward  ;  and  then  I  (figuratively) 
blushed  for  my  inconstancy. 

On  entering  the  parlour  I  found  Eliza  there  with  Eose, 
and  no  one  else.  The  surprise  was  not  altogether  so 
agreeable  as  it  ought  to  have  been.  We  chatted  together  a 
long  time,  but  I  found  her  rather  frivolous,  and  even  a  little 
insipid,  compared  with  the  more  mature  and  earnest 
Mrs.  Graham.  Alas,  for  human  constancy  ! 

'  However,'  thought  I, '  I  ought  not  to  marry  Eliza,  since 
my  mother  so  strongly  objects  to  it,  and  I  ought  not  to 
delude  the  girl  with  the  idea  that  I  intended  to  do  so.  Now, 
if  this  mood  continue,  I  shall  have  less  difficulty  in 
emancipating  my  affections  from  her  soft  yet  unrelenting 
sway  ;  and,  though  Mrs.  Graham  might  be  equally  objection- 
able, I  may  be  permitted,  like  the  doctors,  to  cure  a  greater 
evil  by  a  less,  for  I  shall  not  fall  seriously  in  love  with  the 
young  widow,  I  think,  nor  she  with  me — that's  certain — but 
if  I  find  a  little  pleasure  in  her  society  I  may  surely  be 
allowed  to  seek  it ;  and  if  the  star  of  her  divinity  be  bright 
enough  to  dim  the  lustre  of  Eliza's,  so  much  the  better,  but 
I  scarcely  can  think  it.' 

And  thereafter  I  seldom  suffered  a  fine  day  to  pass 
without  paying  a  visit  to  Wildfell  about  the  time  my 
new  acquaintance  usually  left  her  hermitage ;  but  so 
frequently  was  I  baulked  in  my  expectations  of  another 
interview,  so  changeable  was  she  in  her  times  of  coming 
forth  and  in  her  places  of  resort,  so  transient  were  the 
occasional  glimpses  I  was  able  to  obtain,  that  I  felt  half 
inclined  to  think  she  took  as  much  pains  to  avoid  my  company 
as  I  to  seek  hers ;  but  this  was  too  disagreeable  a  supposi- 
tion to  be  entertained  a  moment  after  it  could  conveniently  be 
dismissed. 

One  calm,  clear  afternoon,  however,  in  March,  as  I  was 
superintending  the  rolling  of  the  meadow-land,  and  the 


46  THE  TENANT  OP 

repairing  of  a  hedge  in  the  valley,  I  saw  Mrs.  Graham  down 
by  the  brook,  with  a  sketch-book  in  her  hand,  absorbed  in 
the  exercise  of  her  favourite  art,  while  Arthur  was  putting 
on  the  time  with  constructing  dams  and  breakwaters  in  the 
shallow,  stony  stream.  I  was  rather  in  want  of  amusement, 
and  so  rare  an  opportunity  was  not  to  be  neglected  ;  so, 
leaving  both  meadow  and  hedge,  I  quickly  repaired  to 
the  spot,  but  not  before  Sancho,  who,  immediately  upon 
perceiving  his  young  friend,  scoured  at  full  gallop  the 
intervening  space,  and  pounced  upon  him  with  an  impetuous 
mirth  that  precipitated  the  child  almost  into  the  middle  of 
the  beck ;  but,  happily,  the  stones  preserved  him  from  any 
serious  wetting,  while  their  smoothness  prevented  his  being 
too  much  hurt  to  laugh  at  the  untoward  event. 

Mrs.  Graham  was  studying  the  distinctive  characters  of 
the  different  varieties  of  trees  in  their  winter  nakedness,  and 
copying,  with  a  spirited,  though  delicate  touch,  their  various 
ramifications.  She  did  not  talk  much,  but  I  stood  and 
watched  the  progress  of  her  pencil :  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
behold  it  so  dexterously  guided  by  those  fair  and  graceful 
fingers.  But  ere  long  their  dexterity  became  impaired,  they 
began  to  hesitate,  to  tremble  slightly,  and  make  false  strokes, 
and  then  suddenly  came  to  a  pause,  while  their  owner 
laughingly  raised  her  face  to  mine,  and  told  me  that  her  sketch 
did  not  profit  by  my  superintendence. 

'  Then,'  said  I,  '  I'll  talk  to  Arthur  till  you've  done.' 

'  I  should  like  to  have  a  ride,  Mr.  Markham,  if  mamma 
will  let  me,'  said  the  child. 

'  What  on,  my  boy  ?  ' 

'  I  think  there's  a  horse  in  that  field,'  replied  he,  pointing 
to  where  the  strong  black  mare  was  pulling  the  roller. 

1  No,  no,  Arthur ;  it's  too  far,'  objected  his  mother. 

But  I  promised  to  bring  him  safe  back  after  a  turn  or 
two  up  and  down  the  meadow ;  and  when  she  looked  at  his 
eager  face  she  smiled  and  let  him  go.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  even  allowed  me  to  take  him  so  much  as  half  a 
field's  length  from  her  side. 


WILDFELL  HALL  47 

Enthroned  upon  his  monstrous  steed,  and  solemnly 
proceeding  up  and  down  the  wide,  steep  field,  he  looked  the 
very  incarnation  of  quiet,  gleeful  satisfaction  and  delight. 
The  rolling,  however,  was  soon  completed  ;  but  when  I 
dismounted  the  gallant  horseman,  and  restored  him  to  his 
mother,  she  seemed  rather  displeased  at  my  keeping  him 
so  long.  She  had  shut  up  her  sketch-book,  and  been, 
probably,  for  some  minutes  impatiently  waiting  his  return. 

It  was  now  high  time  to  go  home,  she  said,  and  would 
have  bid  me  good-evening,  but  I  was  not  going  to  leave  her 
yet :  I  accompanied  her  half-way  up  the  hill.  She  became 
more  sociable,  and  I  was  beginning  to  be  very  happy ;  but, 
on  coming  within  sight  of  the  grim  old  hall,  she  stood  still, 
and  turned  towards  me  while  she  spoke,  as  if  expecting  I 
should  go  no  further,  that  the  conversation  would  end  here, 
and  I  should  now  take  leave  and  depart — as,  indeed,  it  was 
time  to  do,  for  '  the  clear,  cold  eve  '  was  fast  '  declining,'  the 
sun  had  set,  and  the  gibbous  moon  was  visibly  brightening 
in  the  pale  grey  sky ;  but  a  feeling  almost  of  compassion 
riveted  me  to  the  spot.  It  seemed  hard  to  leave  her  to  such 
a  lonely,  comfortless  home.  I  looked  up  at  it.  Silent  and 
grim  it  frowned  before  us.  A  faint,  red  light  was  gleaming 
from  the  lower  windows  of  one  wing,  but  all  the  other 
windows  were  in  darkness,  and  many  exhibited  their 
black,  cavernous  gulfs,  entirely  destitute  of  glazing  or  frame- 
work. 

'  Do  you  not  find  it  a  desolate  place  to  live  in  ?  '  said  I, 
after  a  moment  of  silent  contemplation. 

'  I  do,  sometimes,'  replied  she.  '  On  winter  evenings, 
when  Arthur  is  in  bed,  and  I  am  sitting  there  alone,  hearing 
the  bleak  wind  moaning  round  me  and  howling  through  the 
ruinous  old  chambers,  no  books  or  occupations  can  repress 
the  dismal  thoughts  and  apprehensions  that  come  crowding 
in — but  it  is  folly  to  give  way  to  such  weakness,  I  know. 
If  Eachel  is  satisfied  with  such  a  -life,  why  should  not  I  ? — 
Indeed,  I  cannot  be  too  thankful  for  such  an  asylum,  while  it 
is  left  me.' 


48  THE  TENANT  OF 

The  closing  sentence  was  uttered  in  an  under-tone,  as  if 
spoken  rather  to  herself  than  to  me.  She  then  bid  me  good- 
evening  and  withdrew. 

I  had  not  proceeded  many  steps  on  my  way  homewards 
when  I  perceived  Mr.  Lawrence,  on  his  pretty  grey  pony, 
coming  up  the  rugged  lane  that  crossed  over  the  hill-top. 
I  went  a  little  out  of  my  way  to  speak  to  him  ;  for  we  had 
not  met  for  some  time. 

'  Was  that  Mrs.  Graham  you  were  speaking  to  just 
now?'  said  he,  after  the  first  few  words  of  greeting  had 
passed  between  us. 

'Yes.' 

'Humph!  I  thought  so.'  He  looked  contemplatively 
at  his  horse's  mane,  as  if  he  had  some  serious  cause  of 
dissatisfaction  with  it,  or  something  else. 

•Well!  what  then?' 

'  Oh,  nothing  ! '  replied  he.  '  Only  I  thought  you  dis- 
liked her,'  he  quietly  added,  curling  his  classic  lip  with  a 
slightly  sarcastic  smile. 

'  Suppose  I  did ;  mayn't  a  man  change  his  mind  on 
further  acquaintance  ? ' 

'  Yes,  of  course,'  returned  he,  nicely  reducing  an  entangle- 
ment in  the  pony's  redundant  hoary  mane.  Then  suddenly 
turning  to  me,  and  fixing  his  shy,  hazel  eyes  upon  me  with 
a  steady  penetrating  gaze,  he  added,  '  Then  you  have  changed 
your  mind  ? ' 

'  I  can't  say  that  I  have  exactly.  No ;  I  think  I  hold 
the  same  opinion  respecting  her  as  before — but  slightly 
ameliorated.' 

'  Oh  ! '  He  looked  round  for  something  else  to  talk 
about ;  and  glancing  up  at  the  moon,  made  some  remark 
upon  the  beauty  of  the  evening,  which  I  did  not  answer,  as 
being  irrelevant  to  the  subject. 

'  Lawrence,'  said  I,  calmly  looking  him  in  the  face,  '  are 
you  in  love  with  Mrs.  Graham  ?  ' 

Instead  of  his  being  deeply  offended  at  this,  as  I  more 
than  half  expected  he  would,  the  first  start  of  surprise,  at  the 


WILDFELL  HALL  49 

audacious  question,  was  followed  by  a  tittering  laugh,  as  if 
he  was  highly  amused  at  the  idea. 

'  I  in  love  with  her  I '  repeated  he.  '  What  makes  you 
dream  of  such  a  thing  ? ' 

'  Prom  the  interest  you  take  in  the  progress  of  my  ac- 
quaintance with  the  lady,  and  the  changes  of  my  opinion 
concerning  her,  I  thought  you  might  be  jealous.' 

He  laughed  again.  '  Jealous !  no.  But  I  thought  you 
were  going  to  marry  Eliza  Millward.' 

'  You  thought  wrong,  then ;  I  am  not  going  to  marry 
either  one  or  the  other — that  I  know  of.' 

'  Then  I  think  you'd  better  let  them  alone.' 

'  Are  you  going  to  marry  Jane  Wilson  ? ' 

He  coloured,  and  played  with  the  mane  again,  but 
answered — '  No,  I  think  not.' 

'  Then  you  had  better  let  her  alone.' 

'  She  won't  let  me  alone,'  he  might  have  said  ;  but  he  only 
looked  silly  and  said  nothing  for  the  space  of  half  a  minute, 
and  then  made  another  attempt  to  turn  the  conversation ; 
and  this  time  I  let  it  pass ;  for  he  had  borne  enough : 
another  word  on  the  subject  would  have  been  like  the  last 
atom  that  breaks  the  camel's  back. 

I  was  too  late  for  tea ;  but  my  mother  had  kindly  kept 
the  teapot  and  muffin  warm  upon  the  hobs,  and,  though  she 
scolded  me  a  little,  readily  admitted  my  excuses ;  and  when 
I  complained  of  the  flavour  of  the  overdrawn  tea,  she  poured 
the  remainder  into  the  slop-basin,  and  bade  Eose  put  some 
fresh  into  the  pot,  and  reboil  the  kettle,  which  offices  were 
performed  with  great  commotion,  and  certain  remarkable 
comments. 

'  Well ! — if  it  had  been  me  now,  I  should  have  had  no 
tea  at  all — if  it  had  been  Fergus,  even,  he  would  have  to  put 
up  with  such  as  there  was,  and  been  told  to  be  thankful,  for 
it  was  far  too  good  for  him ;  but  you — we  can't  do  too  much 
for  you.  It's  always  so — if  there's  anything  particularly 
nice  at  table,  mamma  winks  and  nods  at  me  to  abstain  from 
it,  and  if  I  don't  attend  to  that,  she  whispers,  "  Don't  eat  so 


50  THE  TENANT  OF 

much  of  that,  Rose ;  Gilbert  will  like  it  for  his  supper." — I'm 
nothing  at  all.  In  the  parlour,  it's  "  Come,  Rose,  put  away 
your  things,  and  let's  have  the  room  nice  and  tidy  against  they 
come  in ;  and  keep  up  a  good  fire  ;  Gilbert  likes  a  cheerful 
fire."  In  the  kitchen — "  Make  that  pie  a  large  one,  Rose  ;  I 
daresay  the  boys  '11  be  hungry ;  and  don't  put  so  much 
pepper  in,  they'll  not  like  it,  I'm  sure  " — or,  "  Rose,  don't  put 
so  many  spices  in  the  pudding,  Gilbert  likes  it  plain," — or, 
"  Mind  you  put  plenty  of  currants  in  the  cake,  Fergus  likes 
plenty."  If  I  say,  "  Well,  mamma,  I  don't,"  I'm  told  I 
ought  not  to  think  of  myself.  "  You  know,  Rose,  in  all  house- 
hold matters,  we  have  only  two  things  to  consider,  first, 
what's  proper  to  be  done ;  and,  secondly,  what's  most  agree- 
able to  the  gentlemen  of  the  house — anything  will  do  for  the 
ladies." ' 

'  And  very  good  doctrine  too,'  said  my  mother.  '  Gilbert 
thinks  so,  I'm  sure.' 

'  Very  convenient  doctrine,  for  us,  at  all  events,'  said  I ; 
'but  if  you  would  really  study  my  pleasure,  mother,  you 
must  consider  your  own  comfort  and  convenience  a  little 
more  than  you  do — as  for  Rose,  I  have  no  doubt  she'll 
take  care  of  herself;  and  whenever  she  does  make  a 
sacrifice  or  perform  a  remarkable  act  of  devotedness,  she'll 
take  good  care  to  let  me  know  the  extent  of  it.  But 
for  you  I  might  sink  into  the  grossest  condition  of  self- 
indulgence  and  carelessness  about  the  wants  of  others,  from 
the  mere  habit  of  being  constantly  cared  for  myself,  and 
having  all  my  wants  anticipated  or  immediately  supplied, 
while  left  in  total  ignorance  of  what  is  done  for  me, — if  Rose 
did  not  enlighten  me  now  and  then ;  and  I  should  receive 
all  your  kindness  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  never  know  how 
much  I  owe  you.' 

'  Ah !  and  you  never  will  know,  Gilbert,  till  you're 
married.  Then,  when  you've  got  some  trifling,  self-con- 
conceited  girl  like  Eliza  Millward,  careless  of  everything 
but  her  own  immediate  pleasure  and  advantage,  or  some 
misguided,  obstinate  woman,  like  Mrs.  Graham,  ignorant 


WILDFELL  HALL  51 

of  her  principal  duties,  and  clever  only  in  what  concerns  her 
least  to  know — then  you'll  find  the  difference.' 

'  It  will  do  me  good,  mother ;  I  was  not  sent  into  the 
world  merely  to  exercise  the  good  capacities  and  good 
feelings  of  others — was  I  ? — but  to  exert  my  own  towards 
them ;  and  when  I  marry,  I  shall  expect  to  find  more 
pleasure  in  making  my  wife  happy  and  comfortable,  than  in 
being  made  so  by  her  :  I  would  rather  give  than  receive.' 

'  Oh !  that's  all  nonsense,  my  dear.  It's  mere  boy's  talk 
that !  You'll  soon  tire  of  petting  and  humouring  your  wife 
be  she  ever  so  charming,  and  then  comes  the  trial.' 

'  Well,  then,  we  must  bear  one  another's  burdens.' 

'  Then  you  must  fall  each  into  your  proper  place.  You'll 
do  your  business,  and  she,  if  she's  worthy  of  you,  will  do 
hers ;  but  it's  your  business  to  please  yourself,  and  hers  to 
please  you.  I'm  sure  your  poor,  dear  father  was  as  good  a 
husband  as  ever  lived,  and  after  the  first  six  months  or  so 
were  over,  I  should  as  soon  have  expected  him  to  fly,  as  to 
put  himself  out  of  his  way  to  pleasure  me.  He  always  said 
I  was  a  good  wife,  and  did  my  duty  ;  and  he  always  did  his — 
bless  him  ! — he  was  steady  and  punctual,  seldom  found  fault 
without  a  reason,  always  did  justice  to  my  good  dinners, 
and  hardly  ever  spoiled  my  cookery  by  delay — and  that's  as 
much  as  any  woman  can  expect  of  any  man.' 

Is  it  so,  Halford  ?  Is  that  the  extent  of  your  domestic 
virtues ;  and  does  your  happy  wife  exact  no  more  ? 


CHAPTEE  VII 

NOT  many  days  after  this,  on  a  mild  sunny  morning — rather 
soft  under  foot ;  for  the  last  fall  of  snow  was  only  just 
wasted  away,  leaving  yet  a  thin  ridge,  here  and  there, 
lingering  on  the  fresh  green  grass  beneath  the  hedges  ;  but 
beside  them  already,  the  young  primroses  were  peeping  from 
among  their  moist,  dark  foliage,  and  the  lark  above  was 
singing  of  summer,  and  hope,  and  love,  and  every  heavenly 
thing — I  was  out  on  the  hill-side,  enjoying  these  delights,  and 
looking  after  the  well-being  of  my  young  lambs  and  their 
mothers,  when,  on  glancing  round  me,  I  beheld  three  persons 
ascending  from  the  vale  below.  They  were  Eliza  Millward, 
Fergus,  and  Eose ;  so  I  crossed  the  field  to  meet  them ;  and, 
being  told  they  were  going  to  Wildfell  Hall,  I  declared  my- 
self willing  to  go  with  them,  and  offering  my  arm  to  Eliza, 
who  readily  accepted  it  in  lieu  of  my  brother's,  told  the  latter 
he  might  go  back,  for  I  would  accompany  the  ladies. 

'  I  beg  your  pardon ! '  exclaimed  he.  '  It's  the  ladies  that 
are  accompanying  me,  not  I  them.  You  had  all  had  a  peep 
at  this  wonderful  stranger  but  me,  and  I  could  endure  my 
wretched  ignorance  no  longer — come  what  would,  I  must  be 
satisfied ;  so  I  begged  Eose  to  go  with  me  to  the  Hall,  and 
introduce  me  to  her  at  once.  She  swore  she  would  not, 
unless  Miss  Eliza  would  go  too  ;  so  I  ran  to  the  vicarage 
and  fetched  her ;  and  we've  come  hooked  all  the  way,  as 
fond  as  a  pair  of  lovers — and  now  you've  taken  her  from  me ; 
and  you  want  to  deprive  me  of  my  walk  and  my  visit  besides. 
Go  back  to  your  fields  and  your  cattle,  you  lubberly  fellow ; 
you're  not  fit  to  associate  with  ladies  and  gentlemen  like  us, 


WILDFELL  HALL  53 

that  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  run  snooking  about  to  our 
neighbours'  houses,  peeping  into  their  private  corners,  and 
scenting  out  their  secrets,  and  picking  holes  in  their  coats, 
when  we  don't  find  them  ready  made  to  our  hands — you 
don't  understand  such  refined  sources  of  enjoyment.' 

'  Can't  you  both  go  ?  '  suggested  Eliza,  disregarding  the 
latter  half  of  the  speech. 

'  Yes,  both,  to  be  sure  ! '  cried  Rose ;  '  the  more  the 
merrier — and  I'm  sure  we  shall  want  all  the  cheerfulness  we 
can  carry  with  us  to  that  great,  dark,  gloomy  room,  with  its 
narrow  latticed  windows,  and  its  dismal  old  furniture — unless 
she  shows  us  into  her  studio  again.' 

So  we  went  all  in  a  body ;  and  the  meagre  old  maid- 
servant, that  opened  the  door,  ushered  us  into  an  apartment 
such  as  Rose  had  described  to  me  as  the  scene  of  her  first 
introduction  to  Mrs.  Graham,  a  tolerably  spacious  and  lofty 
room,  but  obscurely  lighted  by  the  old-fashioned  windows, 
the  ceiling,  panels,  and  chimney-piece  of  grim  black  oak — the 
latter  elaborately  but  not  very  tastefully  carved, — with  tables 
and  chairs  to  match,  an  old  bookcase  on  one  side  of  the  fire- 
place, stocked  with  a  motley  assemblage  of  books,  and  an 
elderly  cabinet  piano  on  the  other. 

The  lady  was  seated  in  a  stiff,  high-backed  arm-chair, 
with  a  small  round  table,  containing  a  desk  and  a  work- 
basket  on  one  side  of  her,  and  her  little  boy  on  the  other, 
who  stood  leaning  his  elbow  on  her  knee,  and  reading  to  her, 
with  wonderful  fluency,  from  a  small  volume  that  lay  in  her 
lap;  while  she  rested  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
abstractedly  played  with  the  long,  wavy  curls  that  fell  on  his 
ivory  neck.  They  struck  me  as  forming  a  pleasing  contrast 
to  all  the  surrounding  objects ;  but  of  course  their  position 
was  immediately  changed  on  our  entrance.  I  could  only 
observe  the  picture  during  the  few  brief  seconds  that  Rachel 
held  the  door  for  our  admittance. 

I  do  not  think  Mrs.  Graham  was  particularly  delighted 
to  see  us  :  there  was  something  indescribably  chilly  in  her 
quiet,  calm  civility ;  but  I  did  not  talk  much  to  her.  Seating 


54  THE   TENANT   OF 

myself  near  the  window,  a  little  back  from  the  circle,  I  called 
Arthur  to  me,  and  he  and  I  and  Sancho  amused  ourselves 
very  pleasantly  together,  while  the  two  young  ladies  baited 
his  mother  with  small  talk,  and  Fergus  sat  opposite  with  his 
legs  crossed  and  his  hands  in  his  breeches-pockets,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair,  and  staring  now  up  at  the  ceiling,  now 
straight  forward  at  his  hostess  (in  a  manner  that  made 
me  strongly  inclined  to  kick  him  out  of  the  room),  now 
whistling  sotto  voce  to  himself  a  snatch  of  a  favourite  air, 
now  interrupting  the  conversation,  or  filling  up  a  pause  (as 
the  case  might  be)  with  some  most  impertinent  question  or 
remark.  At  one  time  it  was, — '  It  amazes  me,  Mrs.  Graham, 
how  you  could  choose  such  a  dilapidated,  rickety  old  place  as 
this  to  live  in.  If  you  couldn't  afford  to  occupy  the  whole 
house,  and  have  it  mended  up,  why  couldn't  you  take  a  neat 
little  cottage  ? ' 

'Perhaps  I  was  too  proud,  Mr.  Fergus,'  replied  she, 
smiling ;  '  perhaps  I  took  a  particular  fancy  for  this  romantic, 
old-fashioned  place — but,  indeed,  it  has  many  advantages 
over  a  cottage — in  the  first  place,  you  see,  the  rooms  are 
larger  and  more  airy ;  in  the  second  place,  the  unoccupied 
apartments,  which  I  don't  pay  for,  may  serve  as  lumber- 
rooms,  if  I  have  anything  to  put  in  them  ;  and  they  are  very 
useful  for  my  little  boy  to  run  about  in  on  rainy  days  when 
he  can't  go  out ;  and  then  there  is  the  garden  for  him  to  play 
in,  and  for  me  to  work  in.  You  see  I  have  effected  some 
little  improvement  already,'  continued  she,  turning  to  the 
window.  '  There  is  a  bed  of  young  vegetables  in  that  corner, 
and  here  are  some  snowdrops  and  primroses  already  in 
bloom — and  there,  too,  is  a  yellow  crocus  just  opening  in  the 
sunshine.' 

'  But  then  how  can  you  bear  such  a  situation — your 
nearest  neighbours  two  miles  distant,  and  nobody  looking  in 
or  passing  by  ?  Eose  would  go  stark  mad  in  such  a  place. 
She  can't  put  on  life  unless  she  sees  half  a  dozen  fresh  gowns 
and  bonnets  a  day — not  to  speak  of  the  faces  within ;  but 
you  might  sit  watching  at  these  windows  all  day  long,  and. 


WILDFELL  HALL  55 

never  see  so  much  as  an  old  woman  carrying  her  eggs  to 
market.' 

'  I  am  not  sure  the  loneliness  of  the  place  was  not  one  of 
its  chief  recommendations.  I  take  no  pleasure  in  watching 
people  pass  the  windows  ;  and  I  like  to  be  quiet.' 

'  Oh !  as  good  as  to  say  you  wish  we  would  all  of  us 
mind  our  own  business,  and  let  you  alone." 

'  No,  I  dislike  an  extensive  acquaintance ;  but  if  I  have  a 
few  friends,  of  course  I  am  glad  to  see  them  occasionally. 
No  one  can  be  happy  in  eternal  solitude.  Therefore,  Mr. 
Fergus,  if  you  choose  to  enter  my  house  as  a  friend,  I  will 
make  you  welcome ;  if  not,  I  must  confess,  I  would  rather 
you  kept  away.'  She  then  turned  and  addressed  some 
observation  to  Eose  or  Eliza. 

'And,  Mrs.  Graham,'  said  he  again,  five  minutes  after, 
1  we  were  disputing,  as  we  came  along,  a  question  that  you 
can  readily  decide  for  us,  as  it  mainly  regarded  yourself — and, 
indeed,  we  often  hold  discussions  about  you  ;  for  some  of  us 
have  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  talk  about  our  neighbours' 
concerns,  and  we,  the  indigenous  plants  of  the  soil,  have 
known  each  other  so  long,  and  talked  each  other  over  so 
often,  that  we  are  quite  sick  of  that  game  ;  so  that  a  stranger 
coming  amongst  us  makes  an  invaluable  addition  to  our 
exhausted  sources  of  amusement.  Well,  the  question,  or 
questions,  you  are  requested  to  solve ' 

1  Hold  your  tongue,  Fergus ! '  cried  Eose,  in  a  fever  of 
apprehension  and  wrath. 

'  I  won't,  I  tell  you.  The  questions  you  are  requested 
to  solve  are  these  : — First,  concerning  your  birth,  extrac- 
tion, and  previous  residence.  Some  will  have  it  that 
you  are  a  foreigner,  and  some  an  Englishwoman ;  some 
a  native  of  the  north  country,  and  some  of  the  south ;  some 
say ' 

'  Well,  Mr.  Fergus,  I'll  tell  you.  I'm  an  Englishwoman — 
and  I  don't  see  why  any  one  should  doubt  it — and  I  was  born 
in  the  country,  neither  in  the  extreme  north  nor  south  of  our 
happy  isle ;  and  in  the  country  I  have  chiefly  passed  my  life, 


66  THE   TENANT  OP 

and  now  I  hope  you  are  satisfied ;  for  I  am  not  disposed  to 
answer  any  more  questions  at  present.' 

'  Except  this ' 

'  No,  not  one  more  ! '  laughed  she,  and,  instantly  quitting 
her  seat,  she  sought  refuge  at  the  window  by  which  I  was 
seated,  and,  in  very  desperation,  to  escape  my  brother's 
persecutions,  endeavoured  to  draw  me  into  conversation. 

'  Mr.  Markham,'  said  she,  her  rapid  utterance  and 
heightened  colour  too  plainly  evincing  her  disquietude,  '  have 
you  forgotten  the  fine  sea-view  we  were  speaking  of  some 
time  ago  ?  I  think  I  must  trouble  you,  now,  to  tell  me  the 
nearest  way  to  it ;  for  if  this  beautiful  weather  continue,  I 
shall,  perhaps,  be  able  to  walk  there,  and  take  my  sketch ;  I 
have  exhausted  every  other  subject  for  painting ;  and  I  long 
to  see  it.' 

I  was  about  to  comply  with  her  request,  but  Rose  would 
not  suffer  me  to  proceed. 

'  Oh,  don't  tell  her,  Gilbert ! '  cried  she  ;  '  she  shall  go 

with  us.  It's  Bay  you  are  thinking  about,  I  suppose, 

Mrs.  Graham  ?  It  is  a  very  long  walk,  too  far  for  you,  and 
out  of  the  question  for  Arthur.  But  we  were  thinking  about 
making  a  picnic  to  see  it  some  fine  day ;  and,  if  you  will  wait 
till  the  settled  fine  weather  comes,  I'm  sure  we  shall  all  be 
delighted  to  have  you  amongst  us.' 

Poor  Mrs.  Graham  looked  dismayed,  and  attempted  to 
make  excuses,  but  Eose,  either  compassionating  her  lonely 
life,  or  anxious  to  cultivate  her  acquaintance,  was  determined 
to  have  her  ;  and  every  objection  was  overruled.  She  was 
told  it  would  only  be  a  small  party,  and  all  friends,  and 

that  the  best  view  of  all  was  from Cliffs,  full  five  miles 

distant. 

'  Just  a  nice  walk  for  the  gentlemen,'  continued  Rose ; 
'  but  the  ladies  will  drive  and  walk  by  turns ;  for  we  shall 
have  our  pony-carriage,  which  will  be  plenty  large  enough  to 
contain  little  Arthur  and  three  ladies,  together  with  your 
sketching  apparatus,  and  our  provisions.' 

So  the  proposal  was  finally  acceded  to ;  and,  after  some 


WILDFELL  HALL  57 

further  discussion  respecting  the  time  and  manner  of  the 
projected  excursion,  we  rose,  and  took  our  leave. 

But  this  was  only  March :  a  cold,  wet  April,  and  two 
weeks  of  May  passed  over  before  we  could  venture  forth  on 
our  expedition  with  the  reasonable  hope  of  obtaining  that 
pleasure  we  sought  in  pleasant  prospects,  cheerful  society, 
fresh  air,  good  cheer  and  exercise,  without  the  alloy  of 
bad  roads,  cold  winds,  or  threatening  clouds.  Then,  on  a 
glorious  morning,  we  gathered  our  forces  and  set  forth. 
The  company  consisted  of  Mrs.  and  Master  Graham,  Mary 
and  Eliza  Millward,  Jane  and  Bichard  Wilson,  and  Eose, 
Fergus,  and  Gilbert  Markham. 

Mr.  Lawrence  had  been  invited  to  join  us,  but,  for  some 
reason  best  known  to  himself,  had  refused  to  give  us 
his  company.  I  had  solicited  the  favour  myself.  When  I 
did  so,  he  hesitated,  and  asked  who  were  going.  Upon  my 
naming  Miss  Wilson  among  the  rest,  he  seemed  half  inclined 
to  go,  but  when  I  mentioned  Mrs.  Graham,  thinking  it 
might  be  a  further  inducement,  it  appeared  to  have  a  con- 
trary effect,  and  he  declined  it  altogether,  and,  to  confess  the 
truth,  the  decision  was  not  displeasing  to  me,  though  I  could 
scarcely  tell  you  why. 

It  was  about  midday  when  we  reached  the  place  of  our 
destination.  Mrs.  Graham  walked  all  the  way  to  the  cliffs  ; 
and  little  Arthur  walked  the  greater  part  of  it  too  ;  for  he 
was  now  much  more  hardy  and  active  than  when  he  first 
entered  the  neighbourhood,  and  he  did  not  like  being  in  the 
carriage  with  strangers,  while  all  his  four  friends,  mamma, 
and  Sancho,  and  Mr.  Markham,  and  Miss  Millward,  were  on 
foot,  journeying  far  behind,  or  passing  through  distant  fields 
and  lanes. 

I  have  a  very  pleasant  recollection  of  that  walk,  along  the 
hard,  white,  sunny  road,  shaded  here  and  there  with  bright 
green  trees,  and  adorned  with  flowery  banks  and  blossoming 
hedges  of  delicious  fragrance  ;  or  thixmgh  pleasant  fields  and 
lanes,  all  glorious  in  the  sweet  flowers  and  brilliant  verdure 
of  delightful  May.  It  was  true,  Eliza  was  not  beside  me ; 


68  THE  TENANT  OF 

but  she  was  with  her  friends  in  the  pony-carriage,  as  happy, 
I  trusted,  as  I  was  ;  and  even  when  we  pedestrians,  having 
forsaken  the  highway  for  a  short  cut  across  the  fields,  be- 
held the  little  carriage  far  away,  disappearing  amid  the 
green,  embowering  trees,  I  did  not  hate  those  trees  for 
snatching  the  dear  little  bonnet  and  shawl  from  my  sight, 
nor  did  I  feel  that  all  those  intervening  objects  lay  between 
my  happiness  and  me ;  for,  to  confess  the  truth,  I  was  too 
happy  in  the  company  of  Mrs.  Graham  to  regret  the  absence 
of  Eliza  Millward. 

The  former,  it  is  true,  was  most  provokingly  unsociable 
at  first — seemingly  bent  upon  talking  to  no  one  but  Mary 
Millward  and  Arthur.  She  and  Mary  journeyed  along  to- 
gether, generally  with  the  child  between  them  ; — but  where 
the  road  permitted,  I  always  walked  on  the  other  side  of 
her,  Ei chard  Wilson  taking  the  other  side  of  Miss  Millward, 
and  Fergus  roving  here  and  there  according  to  his  fancy ; 
and,  after  a  while,  she  became  more  friendly,  and  at  length  I 
succeeded  in  securing  her  attention  almost  entirely  to  my- 
self— and  then  I  was  happy  indeed  ;  for  whenever  she  did 
condescend  to  converse,  I  liked  to  listen.  Where  her  opinions 
and  sentiments  tallied  with  mine,  it  was  her  extreme  good 
sense,  her  exquisite  taste  and  feeling,  that  delighted  me ;  where 
they  differed,  it  was  still  her  uncompromising  boldness  in 
the  avowal  or  defence  of  that  difference,  her  earnestness  and 
keenness,  that  piqued  my  fancy :  and  even  when  she 
angered  me  by  her  unkind  words  or  looks,  and  her  unchari- 
table conclusions  respecting  me,  it  only  made  me  the  more 
dissatisfied  with  myself  for  having  so  unfavourably  im- 
pressed her,  and  the  more  desirous  to  vindicate  my  cha- 
racter and  disposition  in  her  eyes,  and,  if  possible,  to  win  her 
esteem. 

At  length  our  walk  was  ended.  The  increasing  height 
and  boldness  of  the  hills  had  for  some  time  intercepted  the 
prospect ;  but,  on  gaining  the  summit  of  a  steep  acclivity, 
and  looking  downward,  an  opening  lay  before  us — and 
the  blue  sea  burst  upon  our  sight ! — deep  violet  blue — not 


WILDFELL  HALL  59 

deadly  calm,  but  covered  with  glinting  breakers — diminutive 
white  specks  twinkling  on  its  bosom,  and  scarcely  to  be 
distinguished,  by  the  keenest  vision,  from  the  little  seamews 
that  sported  above,  their  white  wings  glittering  in  the  sun- 
shine :  only  one  or  two  vessels  were  visible,  and  those  were 
far  away. 

I  looked  at  my  companion  to  see  what  she  thought  of 
this  glorious  scene.  She  said  nothing  :  but  she  stood  still, 
and  fixed  her  eyes  upon  it  with  a  gaze  that  assured  me  she 
was  not  disappointed.  She  had  very  fine  eyes,  by-the-by — I 
don't  know  whether  I  have  told  you  before,  but  they  were  full 
of  soul,  large,  clear,  and  nearly  black — not  brown,  but  very 
dark  grey.  A  cool,  reviving  breeze  blew  from  the  sea — soft, 
pure,  salubrious :  it  waved  her  drooping  ringlets,  and  im- 
parted a  livelier  colour  to  her  usually  too  pallid  lip  and 
cheek.  She  felt  its  exhilarating  influence,  and  so  did  I — I 
felt  it  tingling  through  my  frame,  but  dared  not  give  way  to 
it  while  she  remained  so  quiet.  There  was  an  aspect  of 
subdued  exhilaration  in  her  face,  that  kindled  into  almost  a 
smile  of  exalted,  glad  intelligence  as  her  eye  met  mine. 
Never  had  she  looked  so  lovely :  never  had  my  heart  so 
warmly  cleaved  to  her  as  now.  Had  we  been  left  two 
minutes  longer  standing  there  alone,  I  cannot  answer  for 
the  consequences.  Happily  for  my  discretion,  perhaps  for 
my  enjoyment  during  the  remainder  of  the  day,  we  were 
speedily  summoned  to  the  repast — a  very  respectable  colla- 
tion, which  Eose,  assisted  by  Miss  Wilson  and  Eliza,  who, 
having  shared  her  seat  in  the  carriage,  had  arrived  with  her 
a  little  before  the  rest,  had  set  out  upon  an  elevated  plat- 
form overlooking  the  sea,  and  sheltered  from  the  hot  sun  by 
a  shelving  rock  and  overhanging  trees. 

Mrs.  Graham  seated  herself  at  a  distance  from  me. 
Eliza  was  my  nearest  neighbour.  She  exerted  herself  to  be 
agreeable,  in  her  gentle,  unobtrusive  way,  and  was,  no  doubt, 
as  fascinating  and  charming  as  ever,  if  I  could  only  have 
felt  it.  But  soon  my  heart  began  to  warm  towards  her  once 
again  ;  and  we  were  all  very  merry  and  happy  together — 


60  THE  TENANT  OF 

as  far  as  I  could  see — throughout  the  protracted  social 
meal. 

When  that  was  over,  Kose  summoned  Fergus  to  help  her 
to  gather  up  the  fragments,  and  the  knives,  dishes,  &c.,  and 
restore  them  to  the  baskets ;  and  Mrs.  Graham  took  her 
camp-stool  and  drawing  materials ;  and  having  begged  Miss 
Millward  to  take  charge  of  her  precious  son,  and  strictly 
enjoined  him  not  to  wander  from  his  new  guardian's  side, 
she  left  us  and  proceeded  along  the  steep,  stony  hill,  to  a 
loftier,  more  precipitous  eminence  at  some  distance,  whence 
a  still  finer  prospect  was  to  be  had,  where  she  preferred 
taking  her  sketch,  though  some  of  the  ladies  told  her  it  was 
a  frightful  place,  and  advised  her  not  to  attempt  it. 

When  she  was  gone,  I  felt  as  if  there  was  to  be  no  more 
fun — though  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  she  had  contributed 
to  the  hilarity  of  the  party.  No  jests,  and  little  laughter, 
had  escaped  her  lips  ;  but  her  smile  had  animated  my  mirth ; 
a  keen  observation  or  a  cheerful  word  from  her  had  insensibly 
sharpened  my  wits,  and  thrown  an  interest  over  all  that 
was  done  and  said  by  the  rest.  Even  my  conversation  with 
Eliza  had  been  enlivened  by  her  presence,  though  I  knew  it 
not ;  and  now  that  she  was  gone,  Eliza's  playful  nonsense 
ceased  to  amuse  me — nay,  grew  wearisome  to  my  soul,  and 
I  grew  weary  of  amusing  her :  I  felt  myself  drawn  by  an 
irresistible  attraction  to  that  distant  point  where  the  fair 
artist  sat  and  plied  her  solitary  task — and  not  long  did  I 
attempt  to  resist  it :  while  my  little  neighbour  was  exchang- 
ing a  few  words  with  Miss  Wilson,  I  rose  and  cannily 
slipped  away.  A  few  rapid  strides,  and  a  little  active  clam- 
bering, soon  brought  me  to  the  place  where  she  was  seated — a 
narrow  ledge  of  rock  at  the  very  verge  of  the  cliff,  which  de- 
scended with  a  steep,  precipitous  slant,  quite  down  to  the 
rocky  shore. 

She  did  not  hear  me  coming :  the  falling  of  my  shadow 
across  her  paper  gave  her  an  electric  start ;  and  she  looked 
hastily  round — any  other  lady  of  my  acquaintance  would 
have  screamed  under  such  a  sudden  alarm. 


WILDFELL  HALL  61 

'  Oh !  I  didn't  know  it  was  you. — Why  did  you  startle 
me  so  ? '  said  she,  somewhat  testily.  '  I  hate  anybody  to 
come  upon  me  so  unexpectedly.' 

'  Why,  what  did  you  take  me  for  ?  '  said  I :  '  if  I  had 
known  you  were  so  nervous,  I  would  have  been  more 
cautious  ;  but ' 

'  Well,  never  mind.  What  did  you  come  for  ?  are  they 
all  coming  ? ' 

'  No  ;  this  little  ledge  could  scarcely  contain  them  all.' 

'I'm  glad,  for  I'm  tired  of  talking.' 

'  Well,  then,  I  won't  talk.  I'll  only  sit  and  watch  your 
drawing.' 

'  Oh,  but  you  know  I  don't  like  that.' 

'  Then  I'll  content  myself  with  admiring  this  magnificent 
prospect.' 

She  made  no  objection  to  this ;  and,  for  some  time, 
sketched  away  in  silence.  But  I  could  not  help  stealing  a 
glance,  now  and  then,  from  the  splendid  view  at  our  feet  to 
the  elegant  white  hand  that  held  the  pencil,  and  the  graceful 
neck  and  glossy  raven  curls  that  drooped  over  the  paper. 

'  Now,'  thought  I,  '  if  I  had  but  a  pencil  and  a  morsel  of 
paper,  I  could  make  a  lovelier  sketch  than  hers,  admitting  I 
had  the  power  to  delineate  faithfully  what  is  before  me.' 

But,  though  this  satisfaction  was  denied  me,  I  was  very 
well  content  to  sit  beside  her  there,  and  say  nothing. 

'  Are  you  there  still,  Mr.  Markham  ? '  said  she  at  length, 
looking  round  upon  me — for  I  was  seated  a  little  behind 
on  a  mossy  projection  of  the  cliff. — '  Why  don't  you  go  and 
amuse  yourself  with  your  friends  ? ' 

'  Because  I  am  tired  of  them,  like  you  ;  and  I  shall  have 
enough  of  them  to-morrow — or  at  any  time  hence  ;  but  you  I 
may  not  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  again  for  I  know  not  how 
long.' 

'  What  was  Arthur  doing  when  you  came  away  ?  ' 

'He  was  with  Miss  Millward,  where  you  left  him — all  right, 
but  hoping  mamma  would  not  be  long  away.  You  didn't 
intrust  him  to  me,  by-the-by,'  I  grumbled, '  though  I  had  the 


62  THE  TENANT  OP 

honour  of  a  much  longer  acquaintance ;  but  Miss  Millward 
has  the  art  of  conciliating  and  amusing  children/  I  care- 
lessly added,  '  if  she  is  good  for  nothing  else.' 

'  Miss  Millward  has  many  estimable  qualities,  which  such 
as  you  cannot  be  expected  to  perceive  or  appreciate.  Will 
you  tell  Arthur  that  I  shall  come  in  a  few  minutes  ? ' 

'  If  that  be  the  case,  I  will  wait,  with  your  permission,  till 
those  few  minutes  are  past ;  and  then  I  can  assist  you  to 
descend  this  difficult  path.' 

'  Thank  you — I  always  manage  best,  on  such  occasions, 
without  assistance.' 

'  But,  at  least,  I  can  carry  your  stool  and  sketch-book.' 
She  did  not  deny  me  this  favour  ;  but  I  was  rather  offended 
at  her  evident  desire  to  be  rid  of  me,  and  was  beginning  to 
repent  of  my  pertinacity,  when  she  somewhat  appeased  me 
by  consulting  my  taste  and  judgment  about  some  doubtful 
matter  in  her  drawing.  My  opinion,  happily,  met  her  appro- 
bation, and  the  improvement  I  suggested  was  adopted  with- 
out hesitation. 

1 1  have  often  wished  in  vain,'  said  she,  '  for  another's 
judgment  to  appeal  to  when  I  could  scarcely  trust  the  direc- 
tion of  my  own  eye  and  head,  they  having  been  so  long  occu- 
pied with  the  contemplation  of  a  single  object  as  to  become 
almost  incapable  of  forming  a  proper  idea  respecting  it.' 

'  That,'  replied  I,  '  is  only  one  of  many  evils  to  which  a 
solitary  life  exposes  us.' 

1  True,'  said  she  ;  and  again  we  relapsed  into  silence. 
About  two  minutes  after,  however,  she  declared  her  sketch 
completed,  and  closed  the  book. 

On  returning  to  the  scene  of  our  repast  we  found  all  the 
company  had  deserted  it,  with  the  exception  of  three — Mary 
Millward,  Eichard  Wilson,  and  Arthur  Graham.  The 
younger  gentleman  lay  fast  asleep  with  his  head  pillowed  on 
the  lady's  lap ;  the  other  was  seated  beside  her  with  a  pocket 
edition  of  some  classic  author  in  his  hand.  He  never  went 
anywhere  without  such  a  companion  wherewith  to  improve 
his  leisure  moments  :  all  time  seemed  lost  that  was  not  de- 


WILDFELL   HALL  63 

voted  to  study,  or  exacted,  by  his  physical  nature,  for  the 
bare  support  of  life.  Even  now  he  could  not  abandon  him- 
self to  the  enjoyment  of  that  pure  air  and  balmy  sunshine — 
that  splendid  prospect,  and  those  soothing  sounds,  the  music 
of  the  waves  and  of  the  soft  wind  in  the  sheltering  trees  above 
him — not  even  with  a  lady  by  his  side  (though  not  a  very 
charming  one,  I  will  allow) — he  must  pull  out  his  book,  and 
make  the  most  of  his  time  while  digesting  his  temperate 
meal,  and  reposing  his  weary  limbs,  unused  to  so  much 
exercise. 

Perhaps,  however,  he  spared  a  moment  to  exchange  a 
word  or  a  glance  with  his  companion  now  and  then — at  any 
rate,  she  did  not  appear  at  all  resentful  of  his  conduct ;  for 
her  homely  features  wore  an  expression  of  unusual  cheerful- 
ness and  serenity,  and  she  was  studying  his  pale,  thoughtful 
face  with  great  complacency  when  we  arrived. 

The  journey  homeward  was  by  no  means  so  agreeable  to 
me  as  the  former  part  of  the  day  :  for  now  Mrs.  Graham  was 
in  the  carriage,  and  Eliza  Millward  was  the  companion  of  my 
walk.  She  had  observed  my  preference  for  the  young 
widow,  and  evidently  felt  herself  neglected.  She  did  not 
manifest  her  chagrin  by  keen  reproaches,  bitter  sarcasms,  or 
pouting  sullen  silence  —any  or  all  of  these  I  could  easily  have 
endured,  or  lightly  laughed  away  ;  but  she  showed  it  by  a 
kind  of  gentle  melancholy,  a  mild,  reproachful  sadness  that 
cut  me  to  the  heart.  .1  tried  to  cheer  her  up,  and  apparently 
succeeded  in  some  degree,  before  the  walk  was  over ;  but  in 
the  very  act  my  conscience  reproved  me,  knowing,  as  I  did, 
that,  sooner  or  later,  the  tie  must  be  broken,  and  this  was 
only  nourishing  false  hopes  and  putting  off  the  evil  day. 

When  the  pony-carriage  had  approached  as  near  Wildfell 
Hall  as  the  road  would  permit — unless,  indeed,  it  proceeded 
up  the  long  rough  lane,  which  Mrs.  Graham  would  not  allow 
— the  young  widow  and  her  son  alighted,  relinquishing  the 
driver's  seat  to  Eose ;  and  I  persuaded  Eliza  to  take  the 
latter's  place.  Having  put  her  comfortably  in,  bid  her  take 
care  of  the  evening  air,  and  wished  her  a  kind  good-night, 


64  THE  TENANT  OF 

I  felt  considerably  relieved,  and  hastened  to  offer  my  services 
to  Mrs.  Graham  to  carry  her  apparatus  up  the  fields,  but  she 
had  already  hung  her  camp-stool  on  her  arm  and  taken  her 
sketch-book  in  her  hand,  and  insisted  upon  bidding  me  adieu 
then  and  there,  with  the  rest  of  the  company.  But  this  time 
she  declined  my  proffered  aid  in  so  kind  and  friendly  a 
manner  that  I  almost  forgave  her. 


CHAPTEE  VIII 

Six  weeks  had  passed  away.  It  was  a  splendid  morning 
about  the  close  of  June.  Most  of  the  hay  was  cut,  but  the 
last  week  had  been  very  unfavourable ;  and  now  that  fine 
weather  was  come  at  last,  being  determined  to  make  the 
most  of  it,  I  had  gathered  all  hands  together  into  the  hay- 
field,  and  was  working  away  myself,  in  the  midst  of  them, 
in  my  shirt-sleeves,  with  a  light,  shady  straw  hat  on  my 
head,  catching  up  armfuls  of  moist,  reeking  grass,  and 
shaking  it  out  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  at  the  head  of  a 
goodly  file  of  servants  and  hirelings — intending  so  to  labour, 
from  morning  till  night,  with  as  much  zeal  and  assiduity  as 
I  could  look  for  from  any  of  them,  as  well  to  prosper  the 
work  by  my  own  exertion  as  to  animate  the  workers  by  my 
example — when  lo !  my  resolutions  were  overthrown  in  a 
moment,  by  the  simple  fact  of  my  brother's  running  up  to 
me  and  putting  into  my  hand  a  small  parcel,  just  arrived 
from  London,  which  I  had  been  for  some  time  expecting.  I 
tore  off  the  cover,  and  disclosed  an  elegant  and  portable 
edition  of  '  Marmion.' 

'  I  guess  I  know  who  that's  for,'  said  Fergus,  who  stood 
looking  on  while  I  complacently  examined  the  volume. 
'  That's  for  Miss  Eliza,  now.' 

He  pronounced  this  with  a  tone  and  look  so  prodigiously 
knowing,  that  I  was  glad  to  contradict  him. 

'  You're  wrong,  my  lad,'  said  I ;  and,  taking  up  my  coat, 
I  deposited  the  book  in  one  of  its  pockets,  and  then  put  it  on 


66  THE  TENANT  OF 

(i.e.  the  coat).  '  Now  come  here,  you  idle  dog,  and  make 
yourself  useful  for  once,'  I  continued.  '  Pull  off  your  coat, 
and  take  my  place  in  the  field  till  I  come  back.' 

'  Till  you  come  back  ? — and  where  are  you  going,  pray  ?  ' 

'  No  matter  where — the  when  is  all  that  concerns  you ; — 
and  I  shall  be  back  by  dinner,  at  least.' 

'  Oh-oh  !  and  I'm  to  labour  away  till  then,  am  I  ? — and 
to  keep  all  these  fellows  hard  at  it  besides  ?  Well,  well !  I'll 
submit — for  once  in  a  way. — Come,  my  lads,  you  must  look 
sharp  :  I'm  come  to  help  you  now : — and  woe  be  to  that  man, 
or  woman  either,  that  pauses  for  a  moment  amongst  you — 
whether  to  stare  about  him,  to  scratch  his  head,  or  blow  his 
nose — no  pretext  will  serve — nothing  but  work,  work,  work 
in  the  sweat  of  your  face,'  &c.,  &c. 

Leaving  him  thus  haranguing  the  people,  more  to  their 
amusement  than  edification,  I  returned  to  the  house,  and, 
having  made  some  alteration  in  my  toilet,  hastened  away  to 
Wildfell  Hall,  with  the  book  in  my  pocket ;  for  it  was 
destined  for  the  shelves  of  Mrs.  Graham. 

1  What !  then  had  she  and  you  got  on  so  well  together  as 
to  come  to  the  giving  and  receiving  of  presents  ?  ' — Not  pre- 
cisely, old  buck ;  this  was  my  first  experiment  in  that  line  ; 
and  I  was  very  anxious  to  see  the  result  of  it. 

We  had  met  several  times  since  the Bay  excursion, 

and  I  had  found  she  was  not  averse  to  my  company,  pro- 
vided I  confined  my  conversation  to  the  discussion  of  abstract 
matters,  or  topics  of  common  interest ; — the  moment  I  touched 
upon  the  sentimental  or  the  complimentary,  or  made  the 
slightest  approach  to  tenderness  in  word  or  look,  I  was  not 
only  punished  by  an  immediate  change  in  her  manner  at 
the  time,  but  doomed  to  find  her  more  cold  and  distant,  if 
not  entirely  inaccessible,  when  next  I  sought  her  company. 
This  circumstance  did  not  greatly  disconcert  me,  however, 
because  I  attributed  it,  not  so  much  to  any  dislike  of  my 
person,  as  to  some  absolute  resolution  against  a  second 
marriage  formed  prior  to  the  time  of  our  acquaintance, 
whether  from  excess  of  affection  for  her  late  husband,  or 


WILDFELL  HALL  67 

because  she  had  had  enough  of  him  and  the  matrimonial 
state  together.  At  first,  indeed,  she  had  seemed  to  take  a 
pleasure  in  mortifying  my  vanity  and  crushing  my  presump- 
tion— relentlessly  nipping  off  bud  by  bud  as  they  ventured 
to  appear ;  and  then,  I  confess,  I  was  deeply  wounded, 
though,  at  the  same  time,  stimulated  to  seek  revenge  ; — but 
latterly  finding,  beyond  a  doubt,  that  I  was  not  that  empty- 
headed  coxcomb  she  had  first  supposed  me,  she  had  re- 
pulsed my  modest  advances  in  quite  a  different  spirit.  It 
was  a  kind  of  serious,  almost  sorrowful  displeasure,  which  I 
soon  learnt  carefully  to  avoid  awakening. 

'  Let  me  first  establish  my  position  as  a  friend,'  thought  I 
— '  the  patron  and  playfellow  of  her  son,  the  sober,  solid, 
plain-dealing  friend  of  herself,  and  then,  when  I  have  made 
myself  fairly  necessary  to  her  comfort  and  enjoyment  in  life 
(as  I  believe  I  can),  we'll  see  what  next  may  be  effected.' 

So  we  talked  about  painting,  poetry,  and  music,  theology, 
geology,  and  philosophy :  once  or  twice  I  lent  her  a  book, 
and  once  she  lent  me  one  in  return :  I  met  her  in  her  walks 
as  often  as  I  could ;  I  came  to  her  house  as  often  as  I 
dared.  My  first  pretext  for  invading  the  sanctum  was  to 
bring  Arthur  a  little  waddling  puppy  of  which  Sancho  was 
the  father,  and  which  delighted  the  child  beyond  expression, 
and,  consequently,  could  not  fail  to  please  his  mamma.  My 
second  was  to  bring  him  a  book,  which,  knowing  his 
mother's  particularity,  I  had  carefully  selected,  and  which  I 
submitted  for  her  approbation  before  presenting  it  to  him. 
Then,  I  brought  her  some  plants  for  her  garden,  in  my 
sister's  name — having  previously  persuaded  Rose  to  send 
them.  Each  of  these  times  I  inquired  after  the  picture  she 
was  painting  from  the  sketch  taken  on  the  cliff,  and  was 
admitted  into  the  studio,  and  asked  my  opinion  or  advice 
respecting  its  progress. 

My  last  visit  had  been  to  return  the  book  she  had  lent 
me ;  and  then  it  was  that,  in  casually  discussing  the  poetry 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  she  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see '  Marmion/ 
and  I  had  conceived  the  presumptuous  idea  of  making  her  a 


68  THE  TENANT  OF 

present  of  it,  and,  on  my  return  home,  instantly  sent  for  the 
smart  little  volume  I  had  this  morning  received.  But  an 
apology  for  invading  the  hermitage  was  still  necessary ;  so  I 
had  furnished  myself  with  a  blue  morocco  collar  for  Arthur's 
little  dog ;  and  that  being  given  and  received,  with  much 
more  joy  and  gratitude,  on  the  part  of  the  receiver,  than  the 
worth  of  the  gift  or  the  selfish  motive  of  the  giver  deserved, 
I  ventured  to  ask  Mrs.  Graham  for  one  more  look  at  the 
picture,  if  it  was  still  there. 

'  Oh,  yes  !  come  in,'  said  she  (for  I  had  met  them  in  the 
garden).  '  It  is  finished  and  framed,  all  ready  for  sending 
away ;  but  give  me  your  last  opinion,  and  if  you  can  suggest 
any  further  improvement,  it  shall  be — duly  considered,  at 
least.' 

The  picture  was  strikingly  beautiful  ;  it  was  the  very 
scene  itself,  transferred  as  if  by  magic  to  the  canvas  ;  but  I 
expressed  my  approbation  in  guarded  terms,  and  few  words, 
for  fear  of  displeasing  her.  She,  however,  attentively 
watched  my  looks,  and  her  artist's  pride  was  gratified,  no 
doubt,  to  read  my  heartfelt  admiration  in  my  eyes.  But, 
while  I  gazed,  I  thought  upon  the  book,  and  wondered  how 
it  was  to  be  presented.  My  heart  failed  me  ;  but  I  deter- 
mined not  to  be  such  a  fool  as  to  come  away  without  having 
made  the  attempt.  It  was  useless  waiting  for  an  oppor- 
tunity, and  useless  trying  to  concoct  a  speech  for  the  occa- 
sion. The  more  plainly  and  naturally  the  thing  was  done, 
the  better,  I  thought ;  so  I  just  looked  out  of  the  window  to 
screw  up  my  courage,  and  then  pulled  out  the  book, 
turned  round,  and  put  it  into  her  hand,  with  this  short  ex- 
planation : 

'  You  were  wishing  to  see '  Marmion,'  Mrs.  Graham  ;  and 
here  it  is,  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  take  it.' 

A  momentary  blush  suffused  her  face — perhaps,  a  blush 
of  sympathetic  shame  for  such  an  awkward  style  of  presen- 
tation :  she  gravely  examined  the  volume  on  both  sides  ; 
then  silently  turned  over  the  leaves,  knitting  her  brows  the 
while,  in  serious  cogitation ;  then  closed  the  book,  and  turn- 


WILDFELL  HALL  69 

ing  from  it  to  me,  quietly  asked  the  price  of  it — I  felt  the  hot 
blood  rush  to  my  face. 

'  I'm  sorry  to  offend  you,  Mr.  Markham,'  said  she,  '  but 
unless  I  pay  for  the  book,  I  cannot  take  it.'  And  she  laid  it 
on  the  table. 

'  Why  cannot  you  ? ' 

'  Because,' —  she  paused,  and  looked  at  the  carpet. 

'  Why  cannot  you  ? '  I  repeated,  with  a  degree  of  irasci- 
bility that  roused  her  to  lift  her  eyes  and  look  me  steadily 
in  the  face. 

'Because  I  don't  like  to  put  myself  under  obligations 
that  I  can  never  repay — I  am  obliged  to  you  already  for  your 
kindness  to  my  son  ;  but  his  grateful  affection  and  your  own 
good  feelings  must  reward  you  for  that.' 

'  Nonsense  ! '  ejaculated  I. 

She  turned  her  eyes  on  me  again,  with  a  look  of  quiet, 
grave  surprise,  that  had  the  effect  of  a  rebuke,  whether 
intended  for  such  or  not. 

1  Then  you  won't  take  the  book  ? '  I  asked,  more  mildly 
than  I  had  yet  spoken. 

'  I  will  gladly  take  it,  if  you  will  let  me  pay  for  it.' 

I  told  her  the  exact  price,  and  the  cost  of  the  carriage 
besides,  in  as  calm  a  tone  as  I  could  command — for,  in  fact, 
I  was  ready  to  weep  with  disappointment  and  vexation. 

She  produced  her  purse,  and  coolly  counted  out  the  money, 
but  hesitated  to  put  it  into  my  hand.  Attentively  regarding 
me,  in  a  tone  of  soothing  softness,  she  observed, — '  You  think 
yourself  insulted,  Mr  Markham — I  wish  I  could  make  you 
understand  that — that  I ' 

'  I  do  understand  you,  perfectly,'  I  said.  '  You  think  that 
if  you  were  to  accept  that  trifle  from  me  now,  I  should  presume 
upon  it  hereafter ;  but  you  are  mistaken  : — if  you  will  only 
oblige  me  by  taking  it,  believe  me,  I  shall  build  no  hopes  upon 
it,  and  consider  this  no  precedent  for  future  favours  : — and  it 
is  nonsense  to  talk  about  putting  yourself  under  obligations 
to  me  when  you  must  know  that  in  such  a  case  the  obliga- 
tion is  entirely  on  my  side, — the  favour  on  yours.' 


70  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  Well,  then,  I'll  take  you  at  your  word,'  she  answered, 
with  a  most  angelic  smile,  returning  the  odious  money  to  her 
purse — '  but  remember  ! ' 

'  I  will  remember — what  I  have  said ; — but  do  not  you 
punish  my  presumption  by  withdrawing  your  friendship 
entirely  from  me, — or  expect  me  to  atone  for  it  by  being  more 
distant  than  before,'  said  I,  extending  my  hand  to  take  leave, 
for  I  was  too  much  excited  to  remain. 

'  Well,  then  !  let  us  be  as  we  were,'  replied  she,  frankly 
placing  her  hand  in  mine  ;  and  while  I  held  it  there,  I  had 
much  difficulty  to  refrain  from  pressing  it  to  my  lips  ; — but 
that  would  be  suicidal  madness  :  I  had  been  bold  enough 
already,  and  this  premature  offering  had  well-nigh  given  the 
death-blow  to  my  hopes. 

It  was  with  an  agitated,  burning  heart  and  brain  that  I 
hurried  homewards,  regardless  of  that  scorching  noonday 
sun — forgetful  of  everything  but  her  I  had  just  left — regretting 
nothing  but  her  impenetrability,  and  my  own  precipitancy 
and  want  of  tact — fearing  nothing  but  her  hateful  resolution, 

and  my  inability  to  overcome  it — hoping  nothing but 

halt, — I  will  not  bore  you  with  my  conflicting  hopes  and 
fears — my  serious  cogitations  and  resolves. 


CHAPTEE  IX 

THOUGH  my  affections  might  now  be  said  to  be  fairly  weaned 
from  Eliza  Millward,  I  did  not  yet  entirely  relinquish  my 
visits  to  the  vicarage,  because  I  wanted,  as  it  were,  to  let  her 
down  easy  ;  without  raising  much  sorrow,  or  incurring  much 
resentment, — or  making  myself  the  talk  of  the  parish ;  and 
besides,  if  I  had  wholly  kept  away,  the  vicar,  who  looked 
upon  my  visits  as  paid  chiefly,  if  not  entirely,  to  himself, 
would  have  felt  himself  decidedly  affronted  by  the  neglect. 
But  when  I  called  there  the  day  after  my  interview  with  Mrs. 
Graham,  he  happened  to  be  from  home — a  circumstance  by 
no  means  so  agreeable  to  me  now  as  it  had  been  on  former 
occasions.  Miss  Millward  was  there,  it  is  true,  but  she, 
of  course,  would  be  little  better  than  a  nonentity.  However, 
I  resolved  to  make  my  visit  a  short  one,  and  to  talk  to  Eliza 
in  a  brotherly,  friendly  sort  of  way,  such  as  our  long  ac- 
quaintance might  warrant  me  in  assuming,  and  which,  I 
thought,  could  neither  give  offence  nor  serve  to  encourage 
false  hopes. 

It  was  never  my  custom  to  talk  about  Mrs.  Graham 
either  to  her  or  any  one  else  ;  but  I  had  not  been  seated  three 
minutes  before  she  brought  that  lady  on  to  the  carpet  herself 
in  a  rather  remarkable  manner. 

'  Oh,  Mr.  Markham  !  '  said  she,  with  a  shocked  expression 
and  voice  subdued  almost  to  a  whisper,  '  what  do  you  think 
of  these  shocking  reports  about  Mrs.  Graham? — can  you 
encourage  us  to  disbelieve  them  ? ' 

4 


72  THE  TENANT  OF 

'What  reports?' 

'  Ah,  now  !  you  know ! '  she  slily  smiled  and  shook  her 
head. 

'  I  know  nothing  about  them.  What  in  the  world  do  you 
mean,  Eliza  ? ' 

'  Oh,  don't  ask  me  !  I  can't  explain  it.'  She  took  up  the 
cambric  handkerchief  which  she  had  been  beautifying  with  a 
deep  lace  border,  and  began  to  be  very  busy. 

'  What  is  it,  Miss  Millward  ?  what  does  she  mean  ? '  said 
I,  appealing  to  her  sister,  who  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  the 
hemming  of  a  large,  coarse  sheet. 

'  I  don't  know/  replied  she.  '  Some  idle  slander  somebody 
has  been  inventing,  I  suppose.  I  never  heard  it  till  Eliza 
told  me  the  other  day, — but  if  all  the  parish  dinned  it  in  my 
ears,  I  shouldn't  believe  a  word  of  it — I  know  Mrs.  Graham 
too  well ! ' 

'  Quite  right,  Miss  Millward ! — and  so  do  I — whatever  it 
may  be.' 

'  Well,'  observed  Eliza,  with  a  gentle  sigh,  '  it's  well  to 
have  such  a  comfortable  assurance  regarding  the  worth  of 
those  we  love.  I  only  wish  you  may  not  find  your  confidence 
misplaced.' 

And  she  raised  her  face,  and  gave  me  such  a  look  of 
sorrowful  tenderness  as  might  have  melted  my  heart,  but 
within  those  eyes  there  lurked  a  something  that  I  did  not 
like  ;  and  I  wondered  how  I  ever  could  have  admired  them — 
her  sister's  honest  face  and  small  grey  optics  appeared  far 
more  agreeable.  But  I  was  out  of  temper  with  Eliza 
at  that  moment  for  her  insinuations  against  Mrs.  Graham, 
which  were  false,  I  was  certain,  whether  she  knew  it  or 
not. 

I  said  nothing  more  on  the  subject,  however,  at  the  time, 
and  but  little  on  any  other ;  for,  finding  I  could  not  well 
recover  my  equanimity,  I  presently  rose  and  took  leave, 
excusing  myself  under  the  plea  of  business  at  the  farm ;  and 
to  the  farm  I  went,  not  troubling  my  mind  one  whit  about 
the  possible  truth  of  these  mysterious  reports,  but  only 


WILDFELL  HALL  73 

wondering  what  they  were,  by  whom  originated,  and  on 
what  foundations  raised,  and  how  they  could  the  most  effect- 
ually be  silenced  or  disproved. 

A  few  days  after  this  we  had  another  of  our  quiet  little 
parties,  to  which  the  usual  company  of  friends  and  neighbours 
had  been  invited,  and  Mrs.  Graham  among  the  number. 
She  could  not  now  absent  herself  under  the  plea  of  dark 
evenings  or  inclement  weather,  and,  greatly  to  my  relief ,  she 
came.  Without  her  I  should  have  found  the  whole  affair  an 
intolerable  bore ;  but  the  moment  of  her  arrival  brought  new 
life  to  the  house,  and  though  I  might  not  neglect  the  other 
guests  for  her,  or  expect  to  engross  much  of  her  attention  and 
conversation  to  myself  alone,  I  anticipated  an  evening  of  no 
common  enjoyment. 

Mr.  Lawrence  came  too.  He  did  not  arrive  till  some 
time  after  the  rest  were  assembled.  I  was  curious  to  see  how 
he  would  comport  himself  to  Mrs.  Graham.  A  slight  bow 
was  all  that  passed  between  them  on  his  entrance;  and 
having  politely  greeted  the  other  members  of  the  company, 
he  seated  himself  quite  aloof  from  the  young  widow,  between 
my  mother  and  Eose. 

'  Did  you  ever  see  such  art  ? '  whispered  Eliza,  who  was 
my  nearest  neighbour.  '  Would  you  not  say  they  were 
perfect  strangers  ? ' 

'  Almost ;  but  what  then  ?  ' 

'  What  then  ;  why,  you  can't  pretend  to  be  ignorant  ? ' 

1  Ignorant  of  what  ? '  demanded  I,  so  sharply  that  she 
started  and  replied, — 

'  Oh,  hush  !  don't  speak  so  loud.' 

'  Well,  tell  me  then,'  I  answered  in  a  lower  tone, '  what  is 
it  you  mean  ?  I  hate  enigmas.' 

1  Well,  you  know,  I  don't  vouch  for  the  truth  of  it — 
indeed,  far  from  it — but  haven't  you  heard ?  ' 

'  I've  heard  nothing,  except  from  you.' 

'  You  must  be  wilfully  deaf  then,  for  anyone  will  tell  you 
that ;  but  I  shall  only  anger  you  by  repeating  it,  I  see,  so  I 
had  better  hold  my  tongue.'  , 


74  THE  TENANT  OF 

She  closed  her  lips  and  folded  her  hands  before  her,  with 
an  air  of  injured  meekness. 

'  If  you  had  wished  not  to  anger  me,  you  should  have 
held  your  tongue  from  the  beginning,  or  else  spoken  out 
plainly  and  honestly  all  you  had  to  say.' 

She  turned  aside  her  face,  pulled  out  her  handkerchief, 
rose,  and  went  to  the  window,  where  she  stood  for  some 
time,  evidently  dissolved  in  tears.  I  was  astounded,  provoked, 
ashamed — not  so  much  of  my  harshness  as  for  her  childish 
weakness.  However,  no  one  seemed  to  notice  her,  and 
shortly  after  we  were  summoned  to  the  tea-table :  in  those 
parts  it  was  customary  to  sit  to  the  table  at  tea-time  on  all 
occasions,  and  make  a  meal  of  it,  for  we  dined  early.  On 
taking  my  seat,  I  had  Eose  on  one  side  of  me  and  an  empty 
chair  on  the  other. 

'  May  I  sit  by  you  ?  '  said  a  soft  voice  at  my  elbow. 

1  If  you  like,'  was  the  reply  ;  and  Eliza  slipped  into  the 
vacant  chair ;  then,  looking  up  in  my  face  with  a  half-sad, 
half-playful  smile,  she  whispered, — '  You're  so  stern,  Gilbert.' 

I  handed  down  her  tea  with  a  slightly  contemptuous 
smile,  and  said  nothing,  for  I  had  nothing  to  say. 

'  What  have  I  done  to  offend  you  ? '  said  she,  more 
plaintively.  '  I  wish  I  knew.' 

'  Come,  take  your  tea,  Eliza,  and  don't  be  foolish,' 
responded  I,  handing  her  the  sugar  and  cream. 

Just  then  there  arose  a  slight  commotion  on  the  other 
side  of  me,  occasioned  by  Miss  Wilson's  coming  to  negotiate 
an  exchange  of  seats  with  Rose. 

'  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  exchange  places  with  me, 
Miss  Markham  ? '  said  she ;  'for  I  don't  like  to  sit  by 
Mrs.  Graham.  If  your  mamma  thinks  proper  to  invite  such 
persons  to  her  house,  she  cannot  object  to  her  daughter's 
keeping  company  with  them.' 

This  latter  clause  was  added  in  a  sort  of  soliloquy  when 
Rose  was  gone ;  but  I  was  not  polite  enough  to  let  it  pass. 

'  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  what  you  mean,  Miss 
Wilson  ? '  said  I. 


WILDFELL  HALL  75 

The  question  startled  her  a  little,  but  not  much. 

'  Why,  Mr.  Markham,'  replied  she,  coolly,  having  quickly 
recovered  her  self-possession,  '  it  surprises  me  rather  that 
Mrs.  Markham  should  invite  such  a  person  as  Mrs.  Graham 
to  her  house  ;  but,  perhaps,  she  is  not  aware  that  the  lady's 
character  is  considered  scarcely  respectable.' 

'  She  is  not,  nor  am  I ;  and  therefore  you  would  oblige 
me  by  explaining  your  meaning  a  little  further. 

'  This  is  scarcely  the  time  or  the  place  for  such  explana- 
tions ;  but  I  think  you  can  hardly  be  so  ignorant  as  you 
pretend — you  must  know  her  as  well  as  I  do.' 

'  I  think  I  do,  perhaps  a  little  better ;  and  therefore,  if 
you  will  inform  me  what  you  have  heard  or  imagined 
against  her,  I  shall,  perhaps,  be  able  to  set  you  right.' 

'  Can  you  tell  me,  then,  who  was  her  husband,  or  if  she 
ever  had  any  ?  ' 

Indignation  kept  me  silent.  At  such  a  time  and  place  I 
could  not  trust  myself  to  answer. 

'Have  you  never  observed,'  said  Eliza,  'what  a  striking 
likeness  there  is  between  that  child  of  hers  and ' 

'  And  whom  ? '  demanded  Miss  Wilson,  with  an  air  of 
cold,  but  keen  severity. 

Eliza  was  startled  ;  the  timidly  spoken  suggestion  had 
been  intended  for  my  ear  alone. 

'  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  ! '  pleaded  she  ;  '  I  may  be 
mistaken — perhaps  I  was  mistaken.'  But  she  accompanied 
the  words  with  a  sly  glance  of  derision  directed  to  me  from 
the  corner  of  her  disingenuous  eye. 

'  There's  no  need  to  ask  my  pardon,'  replied  her  friend, 
'  but  I  see  no  one  here  that  at  all  resembles  that  child,  except 
his  mother;  and  when  you  hear  ill-natured  reports,  Miss 
Eliza,  I  will  thank  you,  that  is,  I  think  you  will  do  well,  to 
refrain  from  repeating  them.  I  presume  the  person  you 
allude  to  is  Mr.  Lawrence  ;  but  I  think  I  can  assure  you 
that  your  suspicions,  in  that  respect,  are  utterly  misplaced; 
and  if  he  has  any  particular  connection  with  the  lady  at  all 
(which  no  one  has  a  right  to  assert),  at  least  he  has  (what 


76  THE  TENANT   OF 

cannot  be  said  of  some  others)  sufficient  sense  of  propriety 
to  withhold  him  from  acknowledging  anything  more  than  a 
bowing  acquaintance  in  the  presence  of  respectable  persons ; 
he  was  evidently  both  surprised  and  annoyed  to  find  her 
here.' 

'  Go  it ! '  cried  Fergus,  who  sat  on  the  other  side  of  Eliza, 
and  was  the  only  individual  who  shared  that  side  of  the 
table  with  us.  '  Go  it  like  bricks  !  mind  you  don't  leave  her 
one  stone  upon  another.' 

Miss  Wilson  drew  herself  up  with  a  look  of  freezing 
scorn,  but  said  nothing.  Eliza  would  have  replied,  but  I 
interrupted  her  by  saying  as  calmly  as  I  could,  though  in  a 
tone  which  betrayed,  no  doubt,  some  little  of  what  I  felt 
within, — '  We  have  had  enough  of  this  subject ;  if  we  can 
only  speak  to  slander  our  betters,  let  us  hold  our  tongues.' 

'  I  think  you'd  better,'  observed  Fergus,  '  and  so  does  our 
good  parson ;  he  has  been  addressing  the  company  in  his 
richest  vein  all  the  while,  and  eyeing  you,  from  time  to  time, 
with  looks  of  stern  distaste,  while  you  sat  there,  irreverently 
whispering  and  muttering  together ;  and  once  he  paused  in 
the  middle  of  a  story  or  a  sermon,  I  don't  know  which,  and 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  you,  Gilbert,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  When 
Mr.  Markham  has  done  flirting  with  those  two  ladies  I  will 
proceed.'1 ' 

What  more  was  said  at  the  tea-table  I  cannot  tell,  nor 
how  I  found  patience  to  sit  till  the  meal  was  over.  I 
remember,  however,  that  I  swallowed  with  difficulty  the 
remainder  of  the  tea  that  was  in  my  cup,  and  ate  nothing ; 
and  that  the  first  thing  I  did  was  to  stare  at  Arthur  Graham, 
who  sat  beside  his  mother  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table, 
and  the  second  to  stare  at  Mr.  Lawrence,  who  sat  below ; 
and,  first,  it  struck  me  that  there  was  a  likeness ;  but,  on 
further  contemplation,  I  concluded  it  was  only  in  imagination. 

Both,  it  is  true,  had  more  delicate  features  and  smaller 
bones  than  commonly  fall  to  the  lot  of  individuals  of  the 
rougher  sex,  and  Lawrence's  complexion  was  pale  and  clear, 
and  Arthur's  delicately  fair ;  but  Arthur's  tiny,  somewhat 


WILDFELL  HALL  77 

snubby  nose  could  never  become  so  long  and  straight  as 
Mr.  Lawrence's  ;  and  the  outline  of  his  face,  though  not  full 
enough  to  be  round,  and  too  finely  converging  to  the  small, 
dimpled  chin  to  be  square,  could  never  be  drawn  out  to  the 
long  oval  of  the  other's,  while  the  child's  hair  was  evidently 
of  a  lighter,  warmer  tint  than  the  elder  gentleman's  had  ever 
been,  and  his  large,  clear  blue  eyes,  though  prematurely 
serious  at  times,  were  utterly  dissimilar  to  the  shy  hazel 
eyes  of  Mr.  Lawrence,  whence  the  sensitive  soul  looked  so 
distrustfully  forth,  as  ever  ready  to  retire  within,  from  the 
offences  of  a  too  rude,  too  uncongenial  world.  Wretch  that 
I  was  to  harbour  that  detestable  idea  for  a  moment !  Did  I 
not  know  Mrs.  Graham  ?  '  Had  I  not  seen  her,  conversed 
with  her  time  after  time  ?  Was  I  not  certain  that  she,  in 
intellect,  in  purity  and  elevation  of  soul,  was  immeasurably 
superior  to  any  of  her  detractors ;  that  she  was,  in  fact,  the 
noblest,  the  most  adorable,  of  her  sex  I  had  ever  beheld,  or 
even  imagined  to  exist  ?  Yes,  and  I  would  say  with  Mary 
Mill  ward  (sensible  girl  as  she  was),  that  if  all  the  parish, 
ay,  or  all  the  world,  should  din  these  horrible  lies  in  my 
ears,  I  would  not  believe  them,  for  I  knew  her  better  than 
they. 

Meantime,  my  brain  was  on  fire  with  indignation,  and 
my  heart  seemed  ready  to  burst  from  its  prison  with  con- 
flicting passions.  I  regarded  my  two  fair  neighbours  with  a 
feeling  of  abhorrence  and  loathing  I  scarcely  endeavoured  to 
conceal.  I  was  rallied  from  several  quarters  for  my  abstrac- 
tion and  ungallant  neglect  of  the  ladies  ;  but  I  cared  little  for 
that :  all  I  cared  about,  besides  that  one  grand  subject  of  my 
thoughts,  was  to  see  the  cups  travel  up  to  the  tea-tray,  and 
not  come  down  again.  I  thought  Mr.  Millward  never  would 
cease  telling  us  that  he  was  no  tea-drinker,  and  that  it  was 
highly  injurious  to  keep  loading  the  stomach  with  slops  to 
the  exclusion  of  more  wholesome  sustenance,  and  so  give  him- 
self time  to  finish  his  fourth  cup. 

At  length  it  was  over  ;  and  I  rose  and  left  the  table  and 
the  guests  without  a  word  of  apology — I  could  endure  their 


78  THE  TENANT  OF 

company  no  longer.  I  rushed  out  to  cool  my  brain  in  the 
balmy  evening  air,  and  to  compose  my  mind  or  indulge  my 
passionate  thoughts  in  the  solitude  of  the  garden. 

To  avoid  being  seen  from  the  windows  I  went  down  a 
quiet  little  avenue  that  skirted  one  side  of  the  inclosure,  at 
the  bottom  of  which  was  a  seat  embowered  in  roses  and 
honeysuckles.  Here  I  sat  down  to  think  over  the  virtues 
and  wrongs  of  the  lady  of  Wildfell  Hall ;  but  I  had  not  been 
so  occupied  two  minutes,  before  voices  and  laughter,  and 
glimpses  of  moving  objects  through  the  trees,  informed  me 
that  the  whole  company  had  turned  out  to  take  an  airing  in 
the  garden  too.  However,  I  nestled  up  in  a  corner  of  the 
bower,  and  hoped  to  retain  possession  of  it,  secure  alike  from 
observation  and  intrusion.  But  no — confound  it — there  was 
some  one  coming  down  the  avenue!  Why  couldn't  they 
enjoy  the  flowers  and  sunshine  of  the  open  garden,  and  leave 
that  sunless  nook  to  me,  and  the  gnats  and  midges  ? 

But,  peeping  through  my  fragrant  screen  of  the  inter- 
woven branches  to  discover  who  the  intruders  were  (for  a 
murmur  of  voices  told  me  it  was  more  than  one),  my  vexation 
instantly  subsided,  and  far  other  feelings  agitated  my  still 
unquiet  soul ;  for  there  was  Mrs.  Graham,  slowly  moving 
down  the  walk  with  Arthur  by  her  side,  and  no  one  else. 
Why  were  they  alone?  Had  the  poison  of  detracting 
tongues  already  spread  through  all ;  and  had  they  all  turned 
their  backs  upon  her  ?  I  now  recollected  having  seen  Mrs. 
Wilson,  in  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  edging  her  chair 
close  up  to  my  mother,  and  bending  forward,  evidently  in 
the  delivery  of  some  important  confidential  intelligence ;  and 
from  the  incessant  wagging  of  her  head,  the  frequent  distor- 
tions of  her  wrinkled  physiognomy,  and  the  winking  and 
malicious  twinkle  of  her  little  ugly  eyes,  I  judged  it  was  some 
spicy  piece  of  scandal  that  engaged  her  powers ;  and  from 
the  cautious  privacy  of  the  communication  I  supposed  some 
person  then  present  was  the  luckless  object  of  her  calumnies  : 
and  from  all  these  tokens,  together  with  my  mother's  looks 
and  gestures  of  mingled  horror  and  incredulity,  I  now  con- 


WILDFELL  HALL  79 

eluded  that  object  to  have  been  Mrs.  Graham.  I  did  not 
emerge  from  my  place  of  concealment  till  she  had  nearly 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  walk,  lest  my  appearance  should 
drive  her  away  ;  and  when  I  did  step  forward  she  stood  still 
and  seemed  inclined  to  turn  back  as  it  was. 

'  Oh,  don't  let  us  disturb  you,  Mr.  Markham  !  '  said  she. 
'  We  came  here  to  seek  retirement  ourselves,  not  to  intrude 
on  your  seclusion.' 

'  I  am  no  hermit,  Mrs.  Graham — though  I  own  it  looks 
rather  like  it  to  absent  myself  in  this  uncourteous  fashion 
from  my  guests.' 

'  I  feared  you  were  unwell,'  said  she,  with  a  look  of  real 
concern. 

'  I  was  rather,  but  it's  over  now.  Do  sit  here  a  little  and 
rest,  and  tell  me  how  you  like  this  arbour,'  said  I,  and,  lifting 
Arthur  by  the  shoulders,  I  planted  him  in  the  middle  of  the 
seat  by  way  of  securing  his  mamma,  who,  acknowledging  it 
to  be  a  tempting  place  of  refuge,  threw  herself  back  in  one 
corner,  while  I  took  possession  of  the  other. 

But  that  word  refuge  disturbed  me.  Had  their  unkind- 
ness  then  really  driven  her  to  seek  for  peace  in  solitude  ? 

'  Why  have  they  left  you  alone  ?  '  I  asked. 

'  It  is  I  who  have  left  them,'  was  the  smiling  rejoinder. 
'  I  was  wearied  to  death  with  small  talk — nothing  wears 
me  out  like  that.  I  cannot  imagine  how  they  can  go  on  as 
they  do.' 

I  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  serious  depth  of  her 
wonderment. 

'  Is  it  that  they  think  it  a  duty  to  be  continually  talking,' 
pursued  she :  '  and  so  never  pause  to  think,  but  fill  up  with 
aimless  trifles  and  vain  repetitions  when  subjects  of  real 
interest  fail  to  present  themselves,  or  do  they  really  take 
a  pleasure  in  such  discourse  ? ' 

'  Very  likely  they  do,'  said  I ;  '  their  shallow  minds  can 
hold  no  great  ideas,  and  their  light  heads  are  carried  away 
by  trivialities  that  would  not  move  a  better-furnished  skull ; 
and  their  only  alternative  to  such  discourse  is  to  plunge 


80  THE  TENANT  OF 

over  head  and  ears  into  the  slough  of  scandal — which  is  their 
chief  delight.' 

'  Not  all  of  them,  surely  ? '  cried  the  lady,  astonished  at 
the  bitterness  of  my  remark. 

'  No,  certainly ;  I  exonerate  my  sister  from  such  degraded 
tastes,  and  my  mother  too,  if  you  included  her  in  your  ani- 
madversions.' 

'  I  meant  no  animadversions  against  any  one,  and  certainly 
intended  no  disrespectful  allusions  to  your  mother.  I  have 
known  some  sensible  persons  great  adepts  in  that  style  of 
conversation  when  circumstances  impelled  them  to  it ;  but  it 
is  a  gift  I  cannot  boast  the  possession  of.  I  kept  up  my 
attention  on  this  occasion  as  long  as  I  could,  but  when  my 
powers  were  exhausted  I  stole  away  to  seek  a  few  minutes' 
repose  in  this  quiet  walk.  I  hate  talking  where  there  is  no 
exchange  of  ideas  or  sentiments,  and  no  good  given  or 
received.' 

'  Well,'  said  I,  '  if  ever  I  trouble  you  with  my  loquacity, 
tell  me  so  at  once,  and  I  promise  not  to  be  offended  ;  for  I 
possess  the  faculty  of  enjoying  the  company  of  those  I — 
of  my  friends  as  well  in  silence  as  in  conversation.' 

'  I  don't  quite  believe  you ;  but  if  it  were  so  you  would 
exactly  suit  me  for  a  companion.' 

'  I  am  all  you  wish,  then,  in  other  respects  ?  ' 

'  No,  I  don't  mean  that.  How  beautiful  those  little 
clusters  of  foliage  look,  where  the  sun  comes  through  behind 
them  ! '  said  she,  on  purpose  to  change  the  subject. 

And  they  did  look  beautiful,  where  at  intervals  the  level 
rays  of  the  sun  penetrating  the  thickness  of  trees  and  shrubs 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  path  before  us,  relieved  their  dusky 
verdure  by  displaying  patches  of  semi-transparent  leaves  of 
resplendent  golden  green. 

1 1  almost  wish  I  were  not  a  painter,'  observed  my  com- 
panion. 

'  Why  so  ?  one  would  think  at  such  a  time  you  would 
most  exult  in  your  privilege  of  being  able  to  imitate  the 
various  brilliant  and  delightful  touches  of  nature.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  81 

'  No ;  for  instead  of  delivering  myself  up  to  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  them  as  others  do,  I  am  always  troubling  my  head 
about  how  I  could  produce  the  same  effect  upon  canvas ;  and 
as  that  can  never  be  done,  it  is  mere  vanity  and  vexation  of 
spirit.' 

'Perhaps  you  cannot  do  it  to  satisfy  yourself,  but  you 
may  and  do  succeed  in  delighting  others  with  the  result  of 
your  endeavours.' 

'  Well,  after   all,   I   should  not  complain :  perhaps  few 
people  gain  their  livelihood  with  so  much  pleasure  in  their 
toil  as  I  do.     Here  is  some  one  coming.' 
She  seemed  vexed  at  the  interruption. 
'  It   is   only   Mr.    Lawrence  and  Miss   Wilson,'   said  I, 
'  coming  to  enjoy  a  quiet  stroll.     They  will  not  disturb  us.' 

I  could  not  quite  decipher  the  expression  of  her  face  ;  but 
I  was  satisfied  there  was  no  jealousy  therein.  What  business 
had  I  to  look  for  it  ? 

'  What  sort  of  a  person  is  Miss  Wilson  ? '  she  asked. 
'  She  is  elegant  and  accomplished  above  the  generality  of 
her  birth   and  station ;  and   some  say   she  is  ladylike  and 
agreeable.' 

'  I  thought  her  somewhat  frigid  and  rather  supercilious 
in  her  manner  to-day." 

'  Very  likely  she  might  be  so  to  you.  She  has  possibly 
taken  a  prejudice  against  you,  for  I  think  she  regards  you  in 
the  light  of  a  rival.' 

'  Me  !  Impossible,  Mr.  Markham  ! '  said  she,  evidently 
astonished  and  annoyed. 

'  Well,  I  know  nothing  about  it,'  returned  I,  rather 
doggedly ;  for  I  thought  her  annoyance  was  chiefly  against 
myself. 

The  pair  had  now  approached  within  a  few  paces  of  us. 
Our  arbour  was  set  snugly  back  in  a  corner,  before  which  the 
avenue  at  its  termination  turned  off  into  the  more  airy  walk 
along  the  bottom  of  the  garden.  As  they  approached  this,  I 
saw,  by  the  aspect  of  Jane  Wilson,  that  she  was  directing  her 
companion's  attention  to  us ;  and,  as  well  by  her  cold, 


82  THE  TENANT  OF 

sarcastic  smile  as  by  the  few  isolated  words  of  her  discourse 
that  reached  me,  I  knew  full  well  that  she  was  impressing 
him  with  the  idea  that  we  were  strongly  attached  to  each 
other.  I  noticed  that  he  coloured  up  to  the  temples,  gave  us 
one  furtive  glance  in  passing,  and  walked  on,  looking  grave, 
but  seemingly  offering  no  reply  to  her  remarks. 

It  was  true,  then,  that  he  had  some  designs  upon  Mrs. 
Graham ;  and,  were  they  honourable,  he  would  not  be-  so 
anxious  to  conceal  them.  She  was  blameless,  of  course,  but 
he  was  detestable  beyond  all  count. 

While  these  thoughts  flashed  through  my  mind,  my 
companion  abruptly  rose,  and  calling  her  son,  said  they 
would  now  go  in  quest  of  the  company,  and  departed  up  the 
avenue.  Doubtless  she  had  heard  or  guessed  something  of 
Miss  Wilson's  remarks,  and  therefore  it  was  natural  enough 
she  should  choose  to  continue  the  t&te-d-t&te  no  longer, 
especially  as  at  that  moment  my  cheeks  were  burning  with 
indignation  against  my  former  friend,  the  token  of  which  she 
might  mistake  for  a  blush  of  stupid  embarrassment.  For 
this  I  owed  Miss  Wilson  yet  another  grudge ;  and  still  the 
more  I  thought  upon  her  conduct  the  more  I  hated  her. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  before  I  joined  the  company. 
I  found  Mrs.  Graham  already  equipped  for  departure,  and 
taking  leave  of  the  rest,  who  were  now  returned  to  the  house. 
I  offered,  nay,  begged  to  accompany  her  home.  Mr.  Lawrence 
was  standing  by  at  the  time  conversing  with  some  one  else. 
He  did  not  look  at  us,  but,  on  hearing  my  earnest  request,  he 
paused  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  to  listen  for  her  reply, 
and  went  on,  with  a  look  of  quiet  satisfaction,  the  moment 
he  found  it  was  to  be  a  denial. 

A  denial  it  was,  decided,  though  not  unkind.  She  could 
not  be  persuaded  to  think  there  was  danger  for  'herself  or  her 
child  in  traversing  those  lonely  lanes  and  fields  without 
attendance.  It  was  daylight  still,  and  she  should  meet  no 
one ;  or  if  she  did,  the  people  were  quiet  and  harmless  she 
was  well  assured.  In  fact,  she  would  not  hear  of  any  one's 
putting  himself  out  of  the  way  to  accompany  her,  though 


WILDFELL  HALL  83 

Fergus  vouchsafed  to  offer  his  services  in  case  they  should  be 
more  acceptable  than  mine,  and  my  mother  begged  she 
might  send  one  of  the  farming-men  to  escort  her. 

When  she  was  gone  the  rest  was  all  a  blank  or  worse. 
Lawrence  attempted  to  draw  me  into  conversation,  but  I 
snubbed  him  and  went  to  another  part  of  the  room.  Shortly 
after  the  party  broke  up  and  he  himself  took  leave.  When 
he  came  to  me  I  was  blind  to  his  extended  hand,  and  deaf  to 
his  good-night  till  he  repeated  it  a  second  time ;  and  then,  to 
get  rid  of  him,  I  muttered  an  inarticulate  reply,  accompanied 
by  a  sulky  nod. 

'  What  is  the  matter,  Markham  ?  '  whispered  he. 

I  replied  by  a  wrathful  and  contemptuous  stare. 

'  Are  you  angry  because  Mrs.  Graham  would  not  let  you 
go  home  with  her  ? '  he  asked,  with  a  faint  smile  that  nearly 
exasperated  me  beyond  control. 

But,  swallowing  down  all  fiercer  answers,  I  merely 
demanded, — '  What  business  is  it  of  yours  ? ' 

1  Why,  none,'  replied  he  with  provoking  quietness ; 
'  only,' — and  he  raised  his  eyes  to  my  face,  and  spoke  with 
unusual  solemnity, — '  only  let  me  tell  you,  Markham,  that  if 
you  have  any  designs  in  that  quarter,  they  will  certainly 
fail ;  and  it  grieves  me  to  see  you  cherishing  false  hopes,  and 
wasting  your  strength  in  useless  efforts,  for ' 

'  Hypocrite  ! '  I  exclaimed  ;  and  he  held  his  breath,  and 
looked  very  blank,  turned  white  about  the  gills,  and  went 
away  without  another  word. 

I  had  wounded  him  to  the  quick ;  and  I  was  glad  of  it. 


CHAPTEK  X 

WHEN  all  were  gone,  I  learnt  that  the  vile  slander  had  indeed 
been  circulated  throughout  the  company,  in  the  very  presence 
of  the  victim.  Eose,  however,  vowed  she  did  not  and  would 
not  believe  it,  and  my  mother  made  the  same  declaration, 
though  not,  I  fear,  with  the  same  amount  of  real,  unwaver- 
ing incredulity.  It  seemed  to  dwell  continually  on  her 
mind,  and  she  kept  irritating  me  from  time  to  time  by  such 
expressions  as — '  Dear,  dear,  who  would  have  thought  it  !— 
Well !  I  always  thought  there  was  something  odd  about  her. 
—You  see  what  it  is  for  women  to  affect  to  be  different  to 
other  people.'  And  once  it  was, — '  I  misdoubted  that 
appearance  of  mystery  from  the  very  first — I  thought  there 
would  no  good  come  of  it ;  but  this  is  a  sad,  sad  business,  to 
be  sure ! ' 

1  Why,  mother,  you  said  you  didn't  believe  these  tales,' 
said  Fergus. 

'  No  more  I  do,  my  dear;  but  then,  you  know,  there  must 
be  some  foundation.' 

'  The  foundation  is  in  the  wickedness  and  falsehood  of 
the  world,'  said  I,  '  and  in  the  fact  that  Mr.  Lawrence  has 
been  seen  to  go  that  way  once  or  twice  of  an  evening — and 
the  village  gossips  say  he  goes  to  pay  his  addresses  to  the 
strange  lady,  and  the  scandal-mongers  have  greedily  seized 
the  rumour,  to  make  it  the  basis  of  their  own  infernal 
structure.' 

'  Well,  but,  Gilbert,  there  must  be  something  in  her 
manner  to  countenance  such  reports.' 

'  Did  you  see  anything  in  her  manner  ?  ' 


WILDFELL  HALL  85 

'  No,  certainly  ;  but  then,  you  know,  I  always  said  there 
was  something  strange  about  her.' 

I  believe  it  was  on  that  very  evening  that  I  ventured  on 
another  invasion  of  Wildfell  Hall.  From  the  time  of  our 
party,  which  was  upwards  of  a  week  ago,  I  had  been  making 
daily  efforts  to  meet  its  mistress  in  her  walks  ;  and  always 
disappointed  (she  must  have  managed  it  so  on  purpose),  had 
nightly  kept  revolving  in  my  mind  some  pretext  for  another 
call.  At  length  I  concluded  that  the  separation  could  be 
endured  no  longer  (by  this  time,  you  will  see,  I  was  pretty 
far  gone) ;  and,  taking  from  the  book-case  an  old  volume 
that  I  thought  she  might  be  interested  in,  though,  from  its 
unsightly  and  somewhat  dilapidated  condition,  I  had  not  yet 
ventured  to  offer  it  for  perusal,  I  hastened  away, — but  not 
without  sundry  misgivings  as  to  how  she  would  receive  me,  or 
how  I  could  summon  courage  to  present  myself  with  so  slight 
an  excuse.  But,  perhaps,  I  might  see  her  in  the  field  or  the 
garden,  and  then  there  would  be  no  great  difficulty  :  it  was 
the  formal  knocking  at  the  door,  with  the  prospect  of  being 
gravely  ushered  in  by  Eachel,  to  the  presence  of  a  surprised, 
uncordial  mistress,  that  so  greatly  disturbed  me. 

My  wish,  however,  was  not  gratified.  Mrs.  Graham  her- 
self was  not  to  be  seen ;  but  there  was  Arthur  playing  with 
his  frolicsome  little  dog  in  the  garden.  I  looked  over  the 
gate  and  called  him  to  me.  He  wanted  me  to  come  in ;  but 
I  told  him  I  could  not  without  his  mother's  leave. 
'  I'll  go  and  ask  her,'  said  the  child. 

'  No,  no,  Arthur,  you  mustn't  do  that ;  but  if  she's  not 
engaged,  just  ask  her  to  come  here  a  minute.  Tell  her  I 
want  to  speak  to  her.' 

He  ran  to  perform  my  bidding,  and  quickly  returned  with 
his  mother.  How  lovely  she  looked  with  her  dark  ringlets 
streaming  in  the  light  summer  breeze,  her  fair  cheek  slightly 
flushed,  and  her  countenance  radiant  with  smiles.  Dear 
Arthur  !  what  did  I  not  owe  to  you  for  this  and  every  other 
happy  meeting?  Through  him  I  was  at  once  delivered 
from  all  formality,  and  terror,  and  constraint.  In  love 


86  THE  TENANT  OF 

affairs,  there  is  no  mediator  like  a  merry,  simple-hearted 
child — ever  ready  to  cement  divided  hearts,  to  span  the 
unfriendly  gulf  of  custom,  to  melt  the  ice  of  cold  reserve, 
and  overthrow  the  separating  walls  of  dread  formality  and 
pride. 

'  Well,  Mr.  Markham,  what  is  it  ? '  said  the  young 
mother,  accosting  me  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

'  I  want  you  to  look  at  this  book,  and,  if  you  please,  to 
take  it,  and  peruse  it  at  your  leisure.  I  make  no  apology  for 
calling  you  out  on  such  a  lovely  evening,  though  it  be  for  a 
matter  of  no  greater  importance.' 

'  Tell  him  to  come  in,  mamma,'  said  Arthur. 

'  Would  you  like  to  come  in  ? '  asked  the  lady. 

'Yes;  I  should  like  to  see  your  improvements  in  the 
garden.' 

'And  how  your  sister's  roots  have  prospered  in  my 
charge,'  added  she,  as  she  opened  the  gate. 

And  we  sauntered  through  the  garden,  and  talked  of  the 
flowers,  the  trees,  and  the  book,  and  then  of  other  things. 
The  evening  was  kind  and  genial,  and  so  was  my  companion. 
By  degrees  I  waxed  more  warm  and  tender  than,  perhaps,  I 
had  ever  been  before  ;  but  still  I  said  nothing  tangible,  and 
she  attempted  no  repulse,  until,  in  passing  a  moss  rose-tree 
that  I  had  brought  her  some  weeks  since,  in  my  sister's  name, 
she  plucked  a  beautiful  half-open  bud  and  bade  me  give  it  to 
Kose. 

'  May  I  not  keep  it  myself  ?  '  I  asked. 

'  No  ;  but  here  is  another  for  you.' 

Instead  of  taking  it  quietly,  I  likewise  took  the  hand  that, 
offered  it,  and  looked  into  her  face.  She  let  me  hold  it  for  a 
moment,  and  I  saw  a  flash  of  ecstatic  brilliance  in  her  eye,  a 
glow  of  glad  excitement  on  her  face — I  thought  my  hour  of 
victory  was  come  —  but  instantly  a  painful  recollection 
seemed  to  flash  upon  her ;  a  cloud  of  anguish  darkened  her 
brow,  a  marble  paleness  blanched  her  cheek  and  lip ;  there 
seemed  a  moment  of  inward  conflict,  and,  with  a  sudden 
effort,  she  withdrew  her  hand,  and  retreated  a  step  or  two  back. 


WILDFELL   HALL  87 

1  Now,  Mr.  Markham,'  said  she,  with  a  kind  of  desperate 
calmness,  '  I  must  tell  you  plainly  that  I  cannot  do  with  this. 
I  like  your  company,  because  I  am  alone  here,  and  your 
conversation  pleases  me  more  than  that  of  any  other  person  ; 
but  if  you  cannot  be  content  to  regard  me  as  a  friend — a 
plain,  cold,  motherly,  or  sisterly  friend — I  must  beg  you  to 
leave  me  now,  and  let  me  alone  hereafter :  in  fact,  we  must 
be  strangers  for  the  future.' 

'  I  will,  then — be  your  friend,  or  brother,  or  anything  you 
wish,  if  you  will  only  let  me  continue  to  see  you ;  but  tell 
me  why  I  cannot  be  anything  more  ?  ' 

There  was  a  perplexed  and  thoughtful  pause. 

'  Is  it  in  consequence  of  some  rash  vow  ?  ' 

'  It  is  something  of  the  kind,'  she  answered.  '  Some  day 
I  may  tell  you,  but  at  present  you  had  better  leave  me  ;  and 
never,  Gilbert,  put  me  to  the  painful  necessity  of  repeating 
what  I  have  just  now  said  to  you,'  she  earnestly  added, 
giving  me  her  hand  in  serious  kindness.  How  sweet,  how 
musical  my  own  name  sounded  in  her  mouth  ! 

'  I  will  not,'  I  replied.     '  But  you  pardon  this  offence  ?  ' 

1  On  condition  that  you  never  repeat  it.' 

'  And  may  I  come  to  see  you  now  and  then  ? ' 

'  Perhaps — occasionally ;  provided  you  never  abuse  the 
privilege.' 

'  I  make  no  empty  promises,  but  you  shall  see.' 

'  The  moment  you  do  our  intimacy  is  at  an  end,  that's 
all.' 

'  And  will  you  always  call  me  Gilbert  ?  It  sounds  more 
sisterly,  and  it  will  serve  to  remind  me  of  our  contract.' 

She  smiled,  and  once  more  bid  me  go ;  and  at  length  I 
judged  it  prudent  to  obey,  and  she  re-entered  the  house  and 
I  went  down  the  hill.  But  as  I  went  the  tramp  of  horses' 
hoofs  fell  on  my  ear,  and  broke  the  stillness  of  the  dewy 
evening;  and,  looking  towards  the  lane,  I  saw  a  solitary 
equestrian  coming  up.  Inclining  to  dusk  as  it  was,  I  knew 
him  at  a  glance :  it  was  Mr.  Lawrence  on  his  grey  pony.  I 
flew  across  the  field,  leaped  the  stone  fence,  and  then  walked 


38  THE   TENANT  OF 

down  the  lane  to  meet  him.  On  seeing  me,  he  suddenly 
drew  in  his  little  steed,  and  seemed  inclined  to  turn  back, 
but  on  second  thought  apparently  judged  it  better  to  continue 
his  course  as  before.  He  accosted  me  with  a  slight  bow, 
and,  edging  close  to  the  wall,  endeavoured  to  pass  on  ;  but  I 
was  not  so  minded  Seizing  his  horse  by  the  bridle,  I 
exclaimed,  — '  Now,  Lawrence,  I  will  have  this  mystery 
explained !  Tell  me  where  you  are  going,  and  what  you 
mean  to  do — at  once,  and  distinctly  ! ' 

1  Will  you  take  your  hand  off  the  bridle  ?  '  said  he,  quietly 
— '  you're  hurting  my  pony's  mouth.' 

1  You  and  your  pony  be ' 

'  What  makes  you  so  coarse  and  brutal,  Markham  ?  I'm 
quite  ashamed  of  you.' 

'  You  answer  my  questions — before  you  leave  this  spot ! 
I  will  know  what  you  mean  by  this  perfidious  duplicity ! ' 

'  I  shall  answer  no  questions  till  you  let  go  the  bridle, — 
if  you  stand  till  morning.' 

'  Now  then,'  said  I,  unclosing  my  hand,  but  still  standing 
before  him. 

'  Ask  me  some  other  time,  when  you  can  speak  like  a 
gentleman,'  returned  he,  and  he  made  an  effort  to  pass  me 
again;  but  I  quickly  re-captured  the  pony,  scarce  less 
astonished  than  its  master  at  such  uncivil  usage. 

'  Eeally,  Mr.  Markham,  this  is  too  much  !  '  said  the  latter. 
Can  I  not  go  to  see  my  tenant  on  matters  of  business,  with- 
out being  assaulted  in  this  manner  by ?  ' 

'  This  is  no  time  for  business,  sir ! — I'll  tell  you,  now, 
what  I  think  of  your  conduct.' 

'  You'd  better  defer  your  opinion  to  a  more  convenient 
season,'  interrupted  he  in  a  low  tone — '  here's  the  vicar.' 

And,  in  truth,  the  vicar  was  just  behind  me,  plodding 
homeward  from  some  remote  corner  of  his  parish.  I  imme- 
diately released  the  squire  ;  and  he  went  on  his  way,  saluting 
Mr.  Millward  as  he  passed. 

'  What !  quarrelling,  Markham  ? '  cried  the  latter,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  me, — '  and  about  that  young  widow,  I 


WILDFELL  HALL  89 

doubt  ? '  he  added,  reproachfully  shaking  his  head.  '  But 
let  me  tell  you,  young  man  '  (here  he  put  his  face  into  mine 
with  an  important,  confidential  air),  '  she's  not  worth  it ! ' 
and  he  confirmed  the  assertion  by  a  solemn  nod. 

'  MB.  MILLWAED,'  I  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  wrathful 
menace  that  made  the  reverend  gentleman  look  round — 
aghast — astounded  at  such  unwonted  insolence,  and  stare 
me  in  the  face,  with  a  look  that  plainly  said,  '  What,  this  to 
me  ! '  But  I  was  too  indignant  to  apologise,  or  to  speak 
another  word  to  him :  I  turned  away,  and  hastened  home- 
wards, descending  with  rapid  strides  the  steep,  rough  lane, 
and  leaving  him  to  follow  as  he  pleased. 


CHAPTER  XI 

You  must  suppose  about  three  weeks  passed  over.  Mrs. 
Graham  and  I  were  now  established  friends — or  brother  and 
sister,  as  we  rather  chose  to  consider  ourselves.  She  called 
me  Gilbert,  by  my  express  desire,  and  I  called  her  Helen, 
for  I  had  seen  that  name  written  in  her  books.  I  seldom 
attempted  to  see  her  above  twice  a  week  ;  and  still  I  made  our 
meetings  appear  the  result  of  accident  as  often  as  I  could — 
for  I  found  it  necessary  to  be  extremely  careful — and,  alto- 
gether, I  behaved  with  such  exceeding  propriety  that  she 
never  had  occasion  to  reprove  me  once.  Yet  I  could  not  but 
perceive  that  she  was  at  times  unhappy  and  dissatisfied  with 
herself  or  her  position,  and  truly  I  myself  was  not  quite 
contented  with  the  latter :  this  assumption  of  brotherly 
nonchalance  was  very  hard  to  sustain,  and  I  often  felt  myself 
a  most  confounded  hypocrite  with  it  all ;  I  saw  too,  or  rather 
I  felt,  that,  in  spite  of  herself,  '  I  was  not  indifferent  to  her,' 
as  the  novel  heroes  modestly  express  it,  and  while  I  thank- 
fully enjoyed  my  present  good  fortune,  I  could  not  fail  to 
wish  and  hope  for  something  better  in  future  ;  but,  of  course, 
I  kept  such  dreams  entirely  to  myself. 

'  Where  are  you  going,  Gilbert  ? '  said  Rose,  one  evening, 
shortly  after  tea,  when  I  had  been  busy  with  the  farm  all 
day. 

'  To  take  a  walk,'  was  the  reply. 

'  Do  you  always  brush  your  hat  so  carefully,  and  do  your 
hair  so  nicely,  and  put  on  such  smart  new  gloves  when  you 
take  a  walk  ? ' 

1  Not  always.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  91 

'  You're  going  to  Wildfell  Hall,  aren't  you  ?  ' 

'  What  makes  you  think  so  ? ' 

'  Because  you  look  as  if  you  were — but  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  go  so  often.' 

'  Nonsense,  child !  I  don't  go  once  in  six  weeks — what  do 
you  mean  ? ' 

'  Well,  but  if  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  have  so  much  to  do 
with  Mrs.  Graham.' 

'Why,  Eose,  are  you,  too,  giving  in  to  the  prevailing 
opinion  ? ' 

'  No,'  returned  she,  hesitatingly — '  but  I've  heard  so  much 
about  her  lately,  both  at  the  Wilsons'  and  the  vicarage ;  — 
and  besides,  mamma  says,  if  she  were  a  proper  person  she 
would  not  be  living  there  by  herself — and  don't  you  remem- 
ber last  winter,  Gilbert,  all  that  about  the  false  name  to  the 
picture ;  and  how  she  explained  it — saying  she  had  friends 
or  acquaintances  from  whom  she  wished  her  present  resi- 
dence to  be  concealed,  and  that  she  was  afraid  of  their  tracing 
her  out ; — and  then,  how  suddenly  she  started  up  and  left 
the  room  when  that  person  came — whom  she  took  good  care 
not  to  let  us  catch  a  glimpse  of,  and  who  Arthur,  with  such 
an  air  of  mystery,  told  us  was  his  mamma's  friend  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  Eose,  I  remember  it  all ;  and  I  can  forgive  your 
uncharitable  conclusions  ;  for,  perhaps,  if  I  did  not  know  her 
myself,  I  should  put  all  these  things  together,  and  believe 
the  same  as  you  do ;  but  thank  God,  I  do  know  her  ;  and  I 
should  be  unworthy  the  name  of  a  man,  if  I  could  believe 
anything  that  was  said  against  her,  unless  I  heard  it  from 
her  own  lips. — I  should  as  soon  believe  such  things  of  you, 
Eose.' 

'  Oh,  Gilbert ! ' 

'  Well,  do  you  think  I  could  believe  anything  of  the  kind, 
— whatever  the  Wilsons  and  Millwards  dared  to  whisper  ? ' 

'  I  should  hope  not  indeed  ! ' 

'  And  why  not  ? — Because  I  know  you — Well,  and  I  know 
her  just  as  well.' 

'  Oh,  no  !  you  know  nothing  of  her  former  life ;  and  last 


92  THE  TENANT  OF 

year,  at  this  time,  you  did  not  know  that  such  a  person 
existed.' 

'  No  matter.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  looking  through  a 
person's  eyes  into  the  heart,  and  learning  more  of  the  height, 
and  breadth,  and  depth  of  another's  soul  in  one  hour  than  it 
might  take  you  a  lifetime  to  discover,  if  he  or  she  were  not 
disposed  to  reveal  it,  or  if  you  had  not  the  sense  to  under- 
stand it.' 

'  Then  you  are  going  to  see  her  this  evening  ? ' 

'  To  be  sure  I  am  ! ' 

'  But  what  would  mamma  say,  Gilbert ! ' 

'  Mamma  needn't  know.' 

'  But  she  must  know  some  time,  if  you  go  on.' 

1  Go  on  ! — there's  no  going  on  in  the  matter.  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham and  I  are  two  friends — and  will  be  ;  and  no  man  breath- 
ing shall  hinder  it, — or  has  a  right  to  interfere  between  us.' 

1  But  if  you  knew  how  they  talk  you  would  be  more 
careful,  for  her  sake  as  well  as  for  your  own.  Jane  Wilson 
thinks  your  visits  to  the  old  hall  but  another  proof  of  her 
depravity — 

'  Confound  Jane  Wilson  ! ' 

'  And  Eliza  Millward  is  quite  grieved  about  you.' 

'  I  hope  she  is.' 

'  But  I  wouldn't,  if  I  were  you.' 

'  Wouldn't  what  ? — How  do  they  know  that  I  go  there  ? ' 

'  There's  nothing  hid  from  them :  they  spy  out  every- 
thing.' 

'  Oh,  I  never  thought  of  this  ! — And  so  they  dare  to  turn 
my  friendship  into  food  for  further  scandal  against  her ! — 
That  proves  the  falsehood  of  their  other  lies,  at  all  events,  if 
any  proof  were  wanting. — Mind  you  contradict  them,  Eose, 
whenever  you  can.' 

'  But  they  don't  speak  openly  to  me  about  such  things  : 
it  is  only  by  hints  and  innuendoes,  and  by  what  I  hear  others 
say,  that  I  knew  what  they  think.' 

'  Well,  then,  I  won't  go  to-day,  as  it's  getting  latish.  But 
oh,  deuce  take  their  cursed,  envenomed  tongues  ! '  I  muttered^ 
Jn  the  bitterness  of  my  soul 


WILDFELL  HALL  93 

'  And  just  at  that  moment  the  vicar  entered  the  room : 
we  had  been  too  much  absorbed  in  our  conversation  to  observe 
his  knock.  After  his  customary  cheerful  and  fatherly  greet- 
ing of  Eose,  who  was  rather  a  favourite  with  the  old  gentle- 
man, he  turned  somewhat  sternly  to  me  : — 

'  Well,  sir  ! '  said  he,  '  you're  quite  a  stranger.  It  is — let 
— me — see,'  he  continued,  slowly,  as  he  deposited  his  ponder- 
ous bulk  in  the  arm-chair  that  Eose  officiously  brought 
towards  him ;  'it  is  just — six — weeks — by  my  reckoning, 
since  you  darkened — my — door ! '  He  spoke  it  with  emphasis, 
and  struck  his  stick  on  the  floor. 

'  Is  it,  sir  ? '  said  I. 

'  Ay  !  It  is  so  !'  He  added  an  affirmatory  nod,  and 
continued  to  gaze  upon  me  with  a  kind  of  irate  solemnity, 
holding  his  substantial  stick  between  his  knees,  with  his 
hands  clasped  upon  its  head. 

'  I  have  been  busy,'  I  said,  for  an  apology  was  evidently 
demanded. 

'  Busy ! '  repeated  he,  derisively. 

'  Yes,  you  know  I've  been  getting  in  my  hay  ;  and  now 
the  harvest  is  beginning.' 

'  Humph ! ' 

Just  then  my  mother  came  in,  and  created  a  diversion  in 
my  favour  by  her  loquacious  and  animated  welcome  of  the 
reverend  guest.  She  regretted  deeply  that  he  had  not  come 
a  little  earlier,  in  time  for  tea,  but  offered  to  have  some 
immediately  prepared,  if  he  would  do  her  the  favour  to 
partake  of  it. 

'  Not  any  for  me,  I  thank  you,'  replied  he ;  '  I  shall  be  at 
home  in  a  few  minutes.' 

'  Oh,  but  do  stay  and  take  a  little  !  it  will  be  ready  in  five 
minutes.' 

But  he  rejected  the  offer  with  a  majestic  wave  of  the  hand. 

'  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  take,  Mrs.  Markham,'  said  he  : 
'  I'll  take  a  glass  of  your  excellent  ale.' 

'  With  pleasure  ! '  cried  my  mother,  proceeding  with 
alacrity  to  pull  the  bell  and  order  the  favoured  beverage. 


94  THE   TENANT  OF 

'  I  thought,"  continued  he,  '  I'd  just  look  in  upon  you  as 
I  passed,  and  taste  your  home-brewed  ale.  I've  been  to  call 
on  Mrs.  Graham.' 

'  Have  you,  indeed  ?  ' 

He  nodded  gravely,  and  added  with  awful  emphasis — '  I 
thought  it  incumbent  upon  me  to  do  so.1 

'  Eeally  ! '  ejaculated  my  mother. 

1  Why  so,  Mr.  Millward  ? '  asked  I. 

He  looked  at  me  with  some  severity,  and  turning  again 
to  my  mother,  repeated, — '  I  thought  it  incumbent  upon  me  ! ' 
and  struck  his  stick  on  the  floor  again.  My  mother  sat 
opposite,  an  awe-struck  but  admiring  auditor. 

'  "  Mrs.  Graham,"  said  I,'  he  continued,  shaking  his  head 
as  he  spoke,  '  "  these  are  terrible  reports  !  "  "  What,  sir?  " 
says  she,  affecting  to  be  ignorant  of  my  meaning.  "  It  is  my 
— duty — as — your  pastor,"  said  I,  "  to  tell  you  both  every- 
thing that  I  myself  see  reprehensible  in  your  conduct,  and  all 
I  have  reason  to  suspect,  and  what  others  tell  me  concerning 
you."— So  I  told  her  ! ' 

'You  did,  sir?'  cried  I,  starting  from  my  seat  and 
striking  my  fist  on  the  table.  He  merely  glanced  towards 
me,  and  continued — addressing  his  hostess  : — 

'  It  was  a  painful  duty,  Mrs.  Markham — but  I  told  her  ! ' 

'  And  how  did  she  take  it  ? '  asked  my  mother. 

'  Hardened,  I  fear — hardened  ! '  he  replied,  with  a  despon- 
dent shake  of  the  head  ;  '  and,  at  the  same  time,  there  was  a 
strong  display  of  unchastened,  misdirected  passions.  She 
turned  white  in  the  face,  and  drew  her  breath  through  her 
teeth  in  a  savage  sort  of  way ; — but  she  offered  no  extenua- 
tion or  defence  ;  and  with  a  kind  of  shameless  calmness — 
shocking  indeed  to  witness  in  one  so  young — as  good  as  told 
me  that  my  remonstrance  was  unavailing,  and  my  pastoral 
advice  quite  thrown  away  upon  her — nay,  that  my  very 
presence  was  displeasing  while  I  spoke  such  things.  And  I 
withdrew  at  length,  too  plainly  seeing  that  nothing  could  be 
done — and  sadly  grieved  to  find  her  case  so  hopeless.  But  I 
am  fully  determined,  Mrs.  Markham,  that  my  daughters — 


WILDFELL   HALL  95 

shall — not  —  consort  with  her.  Do  you  adopt  the  same 
resolution  with  regard  to  yours  ! — As  for  your  sons — as  for 
you,  young  man,'  he  continued,  sternly  turning  to  me 

'  As  for  ME,  sir,'  I  began,  but  checked  by  some  impedi- 
ment in  my  utterance,  and  finding  that  my  whole  frame 
trembled  with  fury,  I  said  no  more,  but  took  the  wiser  part 
of  snatching  up  my  hat  and  bolting  from  the  room,  slamming 
the  door  behind  me,  with  a  bang  that  shook  the  house  to  its 
foundations,  and  made  my  mother  scream,  and  gave  a 
momentary  relief  to  my  excited  feelings. 

The  next  minute  saw  me  hurrying  with  rapid  strides  in 
the  direction  of  Wildfell  Hall — to  what  intent  or  purpose  I 
could  scarcely  tell,  but  I  must  be  moving  somewhere,  and  no 
other  goal  would  do — I  must  see  her  too,  and  speak  to 
her — that  was  certain ;  but  what  to  say,  or  how  to  act,  I  had 
no  definite  idea.  Such  stormy  thoughts — so  many  different 
resolutions  crowded  in  upon  me,  that  my  mind  was  little 
better  than  a  chaos  of  conflicting  passions. 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN  little  more  than  twenty  minutes  the  journey  was  accom- 
plished. I  paused  at  the  gate  to  wipe  my  streaming  forehead, 
and  recover  my  breath  and  some  degree  of  composure. 
Already  the  rapid  walking  had  somewhat  mitigated  my  ex- 
citement ;  and  with  a  firm  and  steady  tread  I  paced  the 
garden-walk.  In  passing  the  inhabited  wing  of  the  building, 
I  caught  a  sight  of  Mrs.  Graham,  through  the  open  window, 
slowly  pacing  up  and  down  her  lonely  room. 

She  seemed  agitated  and  even  dismayed  at  my  arrival, 
as  if  she  thought  I  too  was  coming  to  accuse  her.  I  had 
entered  her  presence  intending  to  condole  with  her  upon  the 
wickedness  of  the  world,  and  help  her  to  abuse  the  vicar  and 
his  vile  informants,  but  now  I  felt  positively  ashamed  to 
mention  the  subject,  and  determined  not  to  refer  to  it,  unless 
she  led  the  way. 

'  I  am  come  at  an  unseasonable  hour,'  said  I,  assuming  a 
cheerfulness  I  did  not  feel,  in  order  to  reassure  her ;  '  but  I 
won't  stay  many  minutes.' 

She  smiled  upon  me,  faintly  it  is  true,  but  most  kindly — 
I  had  almost  said  thankfully,  as  her  apprehensions  were 
removed. 

'  How  dismal  you  are,  Helen  !  Why  have  you  no  fire  ?  ' 
I  said,  looking  round  on  the  gloomy  apartment. 

'  It  is  summer  yet,'  she  replied. 

'  But  we  always  have  a  fire  in  the  evenings,  if  we  can 
bear  it ;  and  you  especially  require  one  in  this  cold  house 
and  dreary  room.' 

1  You  should  have  come  a  little  sooner,  and  I  would  have 
had  one  lighted  for  you  :  but  it  is  not  worth  while  now — 


WILDFELL  HALL  97 

you  won't  stay  many  minutes,  you  say,  and  Arthur  is  gone 
to  bed.' 

'  But  I  have  a  fancy  for  a  fire,  nevertheless.  Will  you 
order  one,  if  I  ring  ? ' 

'  Why,  Gilbert,  you  don't  look  cold  ! '  said  she,  smilingly 
regarding  my  face,  which  no  doubt  seemed  warm  enough. 

1  No,'  replied  I,  '  but  I  want  to  see  you  comfortable  before 
I  go.' 

'  Me  comfortable  ! '  repeated  she,  with  a  bitter  laugh,  as 
if  there  were  something  amusingly  absurd  in  the  idea.  '  It 
suits  me  better  as  it  is,'  she  added,  in  a  tone  of  mournful 
resignation. 

But  determined  to  have  my  own  way,  I  pulled  the  bell. 

'  There  now,  Helen ! '  I  said,  as  the  approaching  steps  of 
Eachel  were  heard  in  answer  to  the  summons.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  turn  round  and  desire  the  maid  to  light 
the  fire. 

I  owe  Eachel  a  grudge  to  this  day  for  the  look  she  cast 
upon  me  ere  she  departed  on  her  mission,  the  sour,  suspic- 
ious, inquisitorial  look  that  plainly  demanded,  '  What  are 
you  here  for,  I  wonder  ?  '  Her  mistress  did  not  fail  to  notice 
it,  and  a  shade  of  uneasiness  darkened  her  brow. 

'  You  must  not  stay  long,  Gilbert,"  said  she,  when  the 
door  was  closed  upon  us. 

'  I'm  not  going  to,'  said  I,  somewhat  testily,  though 
without  a  grain  of  anger  in  my  heart  against  any  one  but 
the  meddling  old  woman.  '  But,  Helen,  I've  something  to 
say  to  you  before  I  go.' 

'  What  is  it  ? ' 

'No,  not  now — I  don't  know  yet  precisely  what  it  is, 
or  how  to  say  it,'  replied  I,  with  more  truth  than  wisdom  ; 
and  then,  fearing  lest  she  should  turn  me  out  of  the  house,  I 
began  talking  about  indifferent  matters  in  order  to  gain  time. 
Meanwhile  Rachel  came  in  to  kindle  the  fire,  which  was 
soon  effected  by  thrusting  a  red-hot  poker  between  the  bars 
of  the  grate,  where  the  fuel  was  already  disposed  for  ignition. 
She  honoured  me  with  another  of  her  hard,  inhospitable 


98  THE  TENANT  OF 

looks  in  departing,  but,  little  moved  thereby,  I  went  on 
talking ;  and  setting  a  chair  for  Mrs.  Graham  on  one  side  of 
the  hearth,  and  one  for  myself  on  the  other,  I  ventured  to 
sit  down,  though  half  suspecting  she  would  rather  see 
me  go. 

In  a  little  while  we  both  relapsed  into  silence,  and 
continued  for  several  minutes  gazing  abstractedly  into  the 
fire — she  intent  upon  her  own  sad  thoughts,  and  I  reflecting 
how  delightful  it  would  be  to  be  seated  thus  beside  her  with 
no  other  presence  to  restrain  our  intercourse — not  even  that 
of  Arthur,  our  mutual  friend,  without  whom  we  had  never 
met  before — if  only  I  could  venture  to  speak  my  mind,  and 
disburden  my  full  heart  of  the  feelings  that  had  so  long 
oppressed  it,  and  which  it  now  struggled  to  retain,  with  an 
effort  that  it  seemed  impossible  to  continue  much  longer, — 
and  revolving  the  pros  and  cons  for  opening  my  heart  to  her 
there  and  then,  and  imploring  a  return  of  affection,  the 
permission  to  regard  her  thenceforth  as  my  own,  and  the 
right  and  the  power  to  defend  her  from  the  calumnies  of 
malicious  tongues.  On  the  one  hand,  I  felt  a  new-born 
confidence  in  my  powers  of  persuasion — a  strong  conviction 
that  my  own  fervour  of  spirit  would  grant  me  eloquence — 
that  my  very  determination — the  absolute  necessity  for 
succeeding,  that  I  felt  must  win  me  what  I  sought ;  while, 
on  the  other,  I  feared  to  lose  the  ground  I  had  already 
gained  with  so  much  toil  and  skill,  and  destroy  all  future 
hope  by  one  rash  effort,  when  time  and  patience  might  have 
won  success.  It  was  like  setting  my  life  upon  the  cast  of  a 
die ;  and  yet  I  was  ready  to  resolve  upon  the  attempt.  At 
any  rate,  I  would  entreat  the  explanation  she  had  half 
promised  to  give  me  before  ;  I  would  demand  the  reason  of 
this  hateful  barrier,  this  mysterious  impediment  to  my 
happiness,  and,  as  I  trusted,  to  her  own. 

But  while  I  considered  in  what  manner  I  could  best 
frame  my  request,  my  companion,  wakened  from  her  reverie 
with  a  scarcely  audible  sigh,  and  looking  towards  the  window, 
where  the  blood-red  harvest  moon,  just  rising  over  one  of 


WILDFELL  HALL  99 

the  grim,  fantastic  evergreens,  was  shining  in  upon  us,  said, 
— '  Gilbert,  it  is  getting  late.' 

'  I  see,'  said  I.     '  You  want  me  to  go,  I  suppose  ?  ' 

'  I  think  you  ought.  If  my  kind  neighbours  get  to  know 
of  this  visit — as  no  doubt  they  will — they  will  not  turn  it 
much  to  my  advantage.' 

It  was  with  what  the  vicar  would  doubtless  have  called  a 
savage  sort  of  smile  that  she  said  this. 

'  Let  them  turn  it  as  they  will,'  said  I.  '  What  are  their 
thoughts  to  you  or  me,  so  long  as  we  are  satisfied  with  our- 
selves— and  each  other.  Let  them  go  to  the  deuce  with  their 
vile  constructions  and  their  lying  inventions  ! ' 

This  outburst  brought  a  flush  of  colour  to  her  face. 

'  You  have  heard,  then,  what  they  say  of  me  ?  ' 

'  I  heard  some  detestable  falsehoods  ;  but  none  but  fools 
would  credit  them  for  a  moment,  Helen,  so  don't  let  them 
trouble  you.' 

'  I  did  not  think  Mr.  Mill  ward  a  fool,  and  he  believes  it 
all ;  but  however  little  you  may  value  the  opinions  of  those 
about  you — however  little  you  may  esteem  them  as  indi- 
viduals, it  is  not  pleasant  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  liar  and  a 
hypocrite,  to  be  thought  to  practise  what  you  abhor,  and  to 
encourage  the  vices  you  would  discountenance,  to  find  your 
good  intentions  frustrated,  and  your  hands  crippled  by  your 
supposed  un worthiness,  and  to  bring  disgrace  on  the  princi- 
ples you  profess.' 

1  True ;  and  if  I,  by  my  thoughtlessness  and  selfish 
disregard  to  appearances,  have  at  all  assisted  to  expose  you 
to  these  evils,  let  me  entreat  you  not  only  to  pardon  me,  but 
to  enable  me  to  make  reparation ;  authorise  me  to  clear  your 
name  from  every  imputation  :  give  me  the  right  to  identify 
your  honour  with  my  own,  and  to  defend  your  reputation  as 
more  precious  than  my  life  ! ' 

'  Are  you  hero  enough  to  unite  yourself  to  one  whom  you 
know  to  be  suspected  and  despised  by  all  around  you,  and 
identify  your  interests  and  your  honour  with  hers  ?  Think  ! 
it  is  a  serious  thing.' 


100  THE   TENANT   OF 

'I  should  be  proud  to  do  it,  Helen! — most  happy — 
delighted  beyond  expression  ! — and  if  that  be  all  the  obstacle 
to  our  union,  it  is  demolished,  and  you  must — you  shall  be 
mine  ! ' 

And  starting  from  my  seat  in  a  frenzy  of  ardour,  I  seized 
her  hand  and  would  have  pressed  it  to  my  lips,  but  she  as 
suddenly  caught  it  away,  exclaiming  in  the  bitterness  of 
intense  affliction, — '  No,  no,  it  is  not  all !  ' 

'  What  is  it,  then  ?  You  promised  I  should  know  some 
time,  and ' 

'  You  shall  know  some  time — but  not  now — my  head 
aches  terribly,'  she  said,  pressing  her  hand  to  her  forehead, 
'and  I  must  have  some  repose — and  surely  I  have  had 
misery  enough  to-day  ! '  she  added,  almost  wildly. 

'  But  it  could  not  harm  you  to  tell  it,'  I  persisted :  '  it 
would  ease  your  mind ;  and  I  should  then  know  how  to 
comfort  you.' 

She  shook  her  head  despondingly.  '  If  you  knew  all,  you, 
too,  would  blame  me — perhaps  even  more  than  I  deserve — 
though  I  have  cruelly  wronged  you,'  she  added  in  a  low 
murmur,  as  if  she  mused  aloud. 

'  You,  Helen  ?    Impossible  ? ' 

'  Yes,  not  willingly ;  for  I  did  not  know  the  strength  and 
depth  of  your  attachment.  I  thought — at  least  I  endeavoured 
to  think  your  regard  for  me  was  as  cold  and  fraternal  as  you 
professed  it  to  be.' 

1  Or  as  yours  ? ' 

'  Or  as  mine — ought  to  have  been — of  such  a  light  and 
selfish,  superficial  nature,  that ' 

1  There,  indeed,  you  wronged  me.' 

'  I  know  I  did ;  and,  sometimes,  I  suspected  it  then  ;  but 
I  thought,  upon  the  whole,  there  could  be  no  great  harm  in 
leaving  your  fancies  and  your  hopes  to  dream  themselves  to 
nothing — or  flutter  away  to  some  more  fitting  object,  while 
your  friendly  sympathies  remained  with  me  ;  but  if  I  had 
known  the  depth  of  your  regard,  the  generous,  disinterested 
affection  you  seem  to  feel ' 


MOORLAND    SCENE   (WITH    COTTAGE)    HAWORTH. 


WILDFELL  HALL  101 

'  Seem,  Helen  ?  ' 

'  That  you  do  feel,  then,  I  would  have  acted  differently.' 

'  How '?  You  could  not  have  given  me  less  encourage- 
ment, or  treated  me  with  greater  severity  than  you  did  ! 
And  if  you  think  you  have  wronged  me  by  giving  me  your 
friendship,  and  occasionally  admitting  me  to  the  enjoyment 
of  your  company  and  conversation,  when  all  hopes  of  closer 
intimacy  were  vain — as  indeed  you  always  gave  me  to  under- 
stand— if  you  think  you  have  wronged  me  by  this,  you  are 
mistaken  ;  for  such  favours,  in  themselves  alone,  are  not 
only  delightful  to  my  heart,  but  purifying,  exalting,  ennobling 
to  my  soul ;  and  I  would  rather  have  your  friendship  than 
the  love  of  any  other  woman  in  the  world  ! ' 

Little  comforted  by  this,  she  clasped  her  hands  upon  her 
knee,  and  glancing  upward,  seemed,  in  silent  anguish,  to  im- 
plore divine  assistance  ;  then,  turning  to  me,  she  calmly  said, 
— '  To-morrow,  if  you  meet  me  on  the  moor  about  mid-day,  I 
will  tell  you  all  you  seek  to  know  ;  and  perhaps  you  will 
then  see  the  necessity  of  discontinuing  our  intimacy — if, 
indeed,  you  do  not  willingly  resign  me  as  one  no  longer 
worthy  of  regard.' 

'  I  can  safely  answer  no  to  that :  you  cannot  have  such 
grave  confessions  to  make — you  must  be  trying  my  faith, 
Helen.' 

'  No,  no,  no,'  she  earnestly  repeated — '  I  wish  it  were  so  ! 
Thank  heaven ! '  she  added,  '  I  have  no  great  crime  to 
confess ;  but  I  have  more  than  you  will  like  to  hear,  or, 
perhaps,  can  readily  excuse, — and  more  than  I  can  tell  you 
now  ;  so  let  me  entreat  you  to  leave  me  ! ' 

'  I  will ;  but  answer  me  this  one  question  first ;  —  do  you 
love  me  ? ' 

'  I  will  not  answer  it !  ' 

'  Then  I  will  conclude  you  do ;  and  so  good-night.' 

She  turned  from  me  to  hide  the  emotion  she  could  not 
quite  control ;  but  I  took  her  hand  and  fervently  kissed  it. 

'  Gilbert,  do  leave  me  ! '  she  cried,  in  a  tone  of  such 
thrilling  anguish  that  I  felt  it  would  be  cruel  to  disobey. 


102  THE  TENANT  OF 

But  I  gave  one  look  back  before  I  closed  the  door,  and 
saw  her  leaning  forward  on  the  table,  with  her  hands 
pressed  against  her  eyes,  sobbing  convulsively ;  yet  I 
withdrew  in  silence.  I  felt  that  to  obtrude  my  consolations 
on  her  then  would  only  serve  to  aggravate  her  sufferings. 

To  tell  you  all  the  questionings  and  conjectures — the 
fears,  and  hopes,  and  wild  emotions  that  jostled  and  chased 
each  other  through  my  mind  as  I  descended  the  hill,  would 
almost  fill  a  volume  in  itself.  But  before  I  was  half-way 
down,  a  sentiment  of  strong  sympathy  for  her  I  had  left 
behind  me  had  displaced  all  other  feelings,  and  seemed 
imperatively  to  draw  me  back  :  I  began  to  think,  '  Why  am 
I  hurrying  so  fast  in  this  direction  ?  Can  I  find  comfort  or 
consolation — peace,  certainty,  contentment,  all — or  anything 
that  I  want  at  home?  and  can  I  leave  all  perturbation, 
sorrow,  and  anxiety  behind  me  there  ? ' 

And  I  turned  round  to  look  at  the  old  Hall.  There  was 
little  besides  the  chimneys  visible  above  my  contracted 
horizon.  I  walked  back  to  get  a  better  view  of  it.  When  it 
rose  in  sight,  I  stood  still  a  moment  to  look,  and  then  con- 
tinued moving  towards  the  gloomy  object  of  attraction. 
Something  called  me  nearer — nearer  still — and  why  not, 
pray  ?  Might  I  not  find  more  benefit  in  the  contemplation 
of  that  venerable  pile  with  the  full  moon  in  the  cloudless 
heaven  shining  so  calmly  above  it — with  that  warm  yellow 
lustre  peculiar  to  an  August  night — and  the  mistress  of  my 
soul  within,  than  in  returning  to  my  home,  where  all  com- 
paratively was  light,  and  life,  and  cheerfulness,) and  therefore 
inimical  to  me  in  my  present  frame  of  mind, — and  the  more 
so  that  its  inmates  all  were  more  or  less  imbued  with  that 
detestable  belief,  the  very  thought  of  which  made  my  blood 
boil  in  my  veins — and  how  could  I  endure  to  hear  it  openly 
declared,  or  cautiously  insinuated — which  was  worse? — I 
had  had  trouble  enough  already,  with  some  babbling  fiend 
that  would  keep  whispering  in  my  ear,  '  It  may  be  true,'  till 
I  had  shouted  aloud,  '  It  is  false  !  I  defy  you  to  make  me 
suppose  it ! ' 


WILDFELL  HALL  103 

I  could  see  the  red  firelight  dimly  gleaming  from  her 
parlour  window.  I  went  up  to  the  garden  wall,  and  stood 
leaning  over  it,  with  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the  lattice,  wondering 
what  she  was  doing,  thinking,  or  suffering  now,  and  wishing 
I  could  speak  to  her  but  one  word,  or  even  catch  one  glimpse 
of  her,  before  I  went. 

I  had  not  thus  looked,  and  wished,  and  wondered  long, 
before  I  vaulted  over  the  barrier,  unable  to  resist  the 
temptation  of  taking  one  glance  through  the  window,  just  to 
see  if  she  were  more  composed  than  when  we  parted  ; — and 
if  I  found  her  still  in  deep  distress,  perhaps  I  might  venture 
to  attempt  a  word  of  comfort — to  utter  one  of  the  many  things 
I  should  have  said  before,  instead  of  aggravating  her 
sufferings  by  my  stupid  impetuosity.  I  looked.  Her  chair 
was  vacant :  so  was  the  room.  But  at  that  moment  some 
one  opened  the  outer  door,  and  a  voice — her  voice — said, — 
'  Come  out — I  want  to  see  the  moon,  and  breathe  the 
evening  air  :  they  will  do  me  good — if  anything  will.' 

Here,  then,  were  she  and  Rachel  coming  to  take  a  walk 
in  the  garden.  I  wished  myself  safe  back  over  the  wall.  I 
stood,  however,  in  the  shadow  of  the  tall  holly-bush,  which, 
standing  between  the  window  and  the  porch,  at  present 
screened  me  from  observation,  but  did  not  prevent  me  from 
seeing  two  figures  come  forth  into  the  moonlight :  Mrs. 
Graham  followed  by  another — not  Eachel,  but  a  young  man, 
slender  and  rather  tall.  0  heavens,  how  my  temples 
throbbed !  Intense  anxiety  darkened  my  sight ;  but  I 
thought — yes,  and  the  voice  confirmed  it — it  was  Mr. 
Lawrence ! 

'  You  should  not  let  it  worry  you  so  much,  Helen,'  said 
he ;  '  I  will  be  more  cautious  in  future ;  and  in  time — 

I  did  not  hear  the  rest  of  the  sentence ;  for  he  walked 
close  beside  her  and  spoke  so  gently  that  I  could  not 
catch  the  words.  My  heart  was  splitting  with  hatred ; 
but  I  listened  intently  for  her  reply.  I  heard  it  plainly 
enough. 

'  But  I  must  leave  this  place,  Frederick,'  she  said — '  I 
s 


104  THE  TENANT  OF 

never  can  be  happy  here, — nor  anywhere  else,  indeed,'  she 
added,  with  a  mirthless  laugh, — '  but  I  cannot  rest  here.' 

'  But  where  could  you  find  a  better  place  ? '  replied  he, 
'  so  secluded — so  near  me,  if  you  think  anything  of  that.' 

'  Yes,'  interrupted  she,  '  it  is  all  I  could  wish,  if  they 
could  only  have  left  me  alone.' 

'  But  wherever  you  go,  Helen,  there  will  be  the  same 
sources  of  annoyance.  I  cannot  consent  to  lose  you :  I 
must  go  with  you,  or  come  to  you ;  and  there  are  meddling 
fools  elsewhere,  as  well  as  here.' 

While  thus  conversing  they  had  sauntered  slowly  past 
me,  down  the  walk,  and  I  heard  no  more  of  their  discourse  ; 
but  I  saw  him  put  his  arm  round  her  waist,  while  she  lov- 
ingly rested  her  hand  on  his  shoulder ; — and  then,  a  tremu- 
lous darkness  obscured  my  sight,  my  heart  sickened  and 
my  head  burned  like  fire  :  I  half  rushed,  half  staggered  from 
the  spot,  where  horror  had  kept  me  rooted,  and  leaped  or 
tumbled  over  the  wall — I  hardly  know  which — but  I  know 
that,  afterwards,  like  a  passionate  child,  I  dashed  myself  on 
the  ground  and  lay  there  in  a  paroxysm  of  anger  and 
despair— how  long,  I  cannot  undertake  to  say ;  but  it  must 
have  been  a  considerable  time ;  for  when,  having  partially 
relieved  myself  by  a  torrent  of  tears,  and  looked  up  at  the 
moon,  shining  so  calmly  and  carelessly  on,  as  little  influ- 
enced by  my  misery  as  I  was  by  its  peaceful  radiance,  and 
earnestly  prayed  for  death  or  forgetfulness,  I  had  risen  and 
journeyed  homewards — little  regarding  the  way,  but  carried 
instinctively  by  my  feet  to  the  door,  I  found  it  bolted  against 
me,  and  every  one  in  bed  except  my  mother,  who  hastened 
to  answer  my  impatient  knocking,  and  received  me  with  a 
shower  of  questions  and  rebukes. 

'  Oh,  Gilbert !  how  could  you  do  so  ?  Where  have  you 
been?  Do  come  in  and  take  your  supper.  I've  got  it  all 
ready,  though  you  don't  deserve  it,  for  keeping  me  in  such  a 
fright,  after  the  strange  manner  you  left  the  house  this 
evening.  Mr.  Millward  was  quite —  Bless  the  boy  !  how 
ill  he  looks.  Oh,  gracious  !  what  is  the  matter  ?  ' 


WILDFELL  HALL  105 

'  Nothing,  nothing — give  me  a  candle.' 

'  But  won't  you  take  some  supper  ? ' 

'  No  ;  I  want  to  go  to  bed,'  said  I,  taking  a  candle  and 
lighting  it  at  the  one  she  held  in  her  hand. 

'  Oh,  Gilbert,  how  you  tremble  ! '  exclaimed  my  anxious 
parent.  '  How  white  you  look !  Do  tell  me  what  it  is  ? 
Has  anything  happened  ? ' 

'  It's  nothing,'  cried  I,  ready  to  stamp  with  vexation 
because  the  candle  would  not  light.  Then,  suppressing  my 
irritation,  I  added,  '  I've  been  walking  too  fast,  that's  all. 
Good-night,'  and  marched  off  to  bed,  regardless  of  the 
'  Walking  too  fast !  where  have  you  been  ? '  that  was 
called  after  me  from  below. 

My  mother  followed  me  to  the  very  door  of  my  room 
with  her  questionings  and  advice  concerning  my  health  and 
my  conduct ;  but  I  implored  her  to  let  me  alone  till  morning  ; 
and  she  withdrew,  and  at  length  I  had  the  satisfaction  to 
hear  her  close  her  own  door.  There  was  no  sleep  for  me, 
however,  that  night  as  I  thought ;  and  instead  of  attempting 
to  solicit  it,  I  employed  myself  in  rapidly  pacing  the 
chamber,  having  first  removed  my  boots,  lest  my  mother 
should  hear  me.  But  the  boards  creaked,  and  she  was 
watchful.  I  had  not  walked  above  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
before  she  was  at  the  door  again. 

'  Gilbert,  why  are  you  not  in  bed — you  said  you  wanted 
to  go?' 

'  Confound  it !     I'm  going,'  said  I. 

'  But  why  are  you  so  long  about  it  ?  You  must  have 
something  on  your  mind ' 

'  For  heaven's  sake,  let  me  alone,  and  get  to  bed  your- 
self.' 

'  Can  it  be  that  Mrs.  Graham  that  distresses  you  so  ?  ' 

'  No,  no,  I  tell  you — it's  nothing.' 

'  I  wish  to  goodness  it  mayn't,'  murmured  she,  with  a 
sigh,  as  she  returned  to  her  own  apartment,  while  I  threw 
myself  on  the  bed,  feeling  most  undutifully  disaffected 
towards  her  for  having  deprived  me  of  what  seemed  the  only 


106  THE   TENANT  OP 

shadow  of  a  consolation  that  remained,  and  chained  me  to 
that  wretched  couch  of  thorns. 

Never  did  I  endure  so  long,  so  miserable  a  night  as  that. 
And  yet  it  was  not  wholly  sleepless.  Towards  morning  my 
distracting  thoughts  began  to  lose  all  pretensions  to 
coherency,  and  shape  themselves  into  confused  and  feverish 
dreams,  and,  at  length,  there  followed  an  interval  of  uncon- 
scious slumber.  But  then  the  dawn  of  bitter  recollection 
that  succeeded — the  waking  to  find  life  a  blank,  and  worse 
than  a  blank,  teeming  with  torment  and  misery — not  a  mere 
barren  wilderness,  but  full  of  thorns  and  briers — to  find 
myself  deceived,  duped,  hopeless,  my  affections  trampled 
upon,  my  angel  not  an  angel,  and  my  friend  a  fiend  incarnate 
— it  was  worse  than  if  I  had  not  slept  at  all. 

It  was  a  dull,  gloomy  morning ;  the  weather  had  changed 
like  my  prospects,  and  the  rain  was  pattering  against  the 
window.  I  rose,  nevertheless,  and  went  out;  not  to  look 
after  the  farm,  though  that  would  serve  as  my  excuse,  but  to 
cool  my  brain,  and  regain,  if  possible,  a  sufficient  degree  of 
composure  to  meet  the  family  at  the  morning  meal  without 
exciting  inconvenient  remarks.  If  I  got  a  wetting,  that,  in 
conjunction  with  a  pretended  over-exertion  before  breakfast, 
might  excuse  my  sudden  loss  of  appetite ;  and  if  a  cold 
ensued,  the  severer  the  better — it  would  help  to  account  for 
the  sullen  moods  and  moping  melancholy  likely  to  cloud  my 
brow  for  long  enough. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

'  MY  dear  Gilbert,  I  wish  you  would  try  to  be  a  little  more 
amiable,'  said  my  mother  one  morning  after  some  display  of 
unjustifiable  ill-humour  on  my  part.  '  You  say  there  is 
nothing  the  matter  with  you,  and  nothing  has  happened  to 
grieve  you,  and  yet  I  never  saw  anyone  so  altered  as  you 
within  these  last  few  days.  You  haven't  a  good  word  for 
anybody — friends  and  strangers,  equals  and  inferiors — it's  all 
the  same.  I  do  wish  you'd  try  to  check  it.' 

'  Check  whau  ?  ' 

'  Why,  your  strange  temper.  You  don't  know  how  it 
spoils  you.  I'm  sure  a  finer  disposition  than  yours  by  nature 
could  not  be,  if  you'd  let  it  have  fair  play :  so  you've  no 
excuse  that  way.' 

While  she  thus  remonstrated,  I  took  up  a  book,  and 
laying  it  open  on  the  table  before  me,  pretended  to  be  deeply 
absorbed  in  its  perusal,  for  I  was  equally  unable  to  justify 
myself  and  unwilling  to  acknowledge  my  errors  ;  and  I  wished 
to  have  nothing  to  say  on  the  matter.  But  my  excellent 
parent  went  on  lecturing,  and  then  came  to  coaxing,  and 
began  to  stroke  my  hair ;  and  I  was  getting  to  feel  quite  a 
good  boy,  but  my  mischievous  brother,  who  was  idling  about 
the  room,  revived  my  corruption  by  suddenly  calling  out, — 

'  Don't  touch  him,  mother  !  he'll  bite  !  He's  a  very  tiger 
in  human  form.  I've  given  him  up  for  my  part — fairly 
disowned  him — cast  him  off,  root  and  branch.  It's  as  much 
as  my  life  is  worth  to  come  within  six  yards  of  him.  The 
other  day  he  nearly  fractured  my  skull  for  singing  a  pretty, 
inoffensive  love-song,  on  purpose  to  amuse  him.' 

'  Oh,  Gilbert  !  how  could  you  ? '  exclaimed  my  mother. 


108  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  I  told  you  to  hold  your  noise  first,  you  know,  Fergus,' 
said  I. 

1  Yes,  but  when  I  assured  you  it  was  no  trouble,  and  went 
on  with  the  next  verse,  thinking  you  might  like  it  better,  you 
clutched  me  by  the  shoulder  and  dashed  me  away,  right 
against  the  wall  there,  with  such  force  that  I  thought  I  had 
bitten  my  tongue  in  two,  and  expected  to  see  the  place 
plastered  with  my  brains  ;  and  when  I  put  my  hand  to  my 
head,  and  found  my  skull  not  broken,  I  thought  it  was  a 
miracle,  and  no  mistake.  But,  poor  fellow  ! '  added  he,  with 
a  sentimental  sigh — '  his  heart's  broken — that's  the  truth  of 
it — and  his  head's ' 

1  Will  you  be  silent  NOW  ? '  cried  I,  starting  up,  and  eye- 
ing the  fellow  so  fiercely  that  my  mother,  thinking  I  meant 
to  inflict  some  grievous  bodily  injury,  laid  her  hand  on  my 
arm,  and  besought  me  to  let  him  alone,  and  he  walked 
leisurely  out,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  singing  pro- 
vokingly — '  Shall  I,  because  a  woman's  fair,'  &c. 

'  I'm  not  going  to  defile  my  fingers  with  him,'  said  I,  in 
answer  to  the  maternal  intercession.  '  I  wouldn't  touch  him 
with  the  tongs.' 

I  now  recollected  that  I  had  business  with  Eobert  Wilson, 
concerning  the  purchase  of  a  certain  field  adjoining  my  farm 
— a  business  I  had  been  putting  off  from  day  to  day ;  for  I 
had  no  interest  in  anything  now ;  and  besides,  I  was  misan- 
thropically  inclined,  and,  moreover,  had  a  particular  objec- 
tion to  meeting  Jane  Wilson  or  her  mother ;  for  though  I 
had  too  good  reason,  now,  to  credit  their  reports  concerning 
Mrs.  Graham,  I  did  not  like  them  a  bit  the  better  for  it — or 
Eliza  Millward  either — and  the  thought  of  meeting  them  was 
the  more  repugnant  to  me  that  I  could  not,  now,  defy  their 
seeming  calumnies  and  triumph  in  my  own  convictions  as 
before.  But  to-day  I  determined  to  make  an  effort  to  return 
to  my  duty.  Though  I  found  no  pleasure  in  it,  it  would  be 
less  irksome  than  idleness — at  all  events  it  would  be  more 
profitable.  If  life  promised  no  enjoyment  within  my  voca- 
tion, at  least  it  offered  no  allurements  out  of  it ;  and  hence- 


WILDFELL  HALL  109 

forth  I  would  put  my  shoulder  to  the  wheel  and  toil  away, 
like  any  poor  drudge  of  a  cart-horse  that  was  fairly  broken 
in  to  its  labour,  and  plod  through  life,  not  wholly  useless  if 
not  agreeable,  and  uncomplaining  if  not  contented  with  my 
lot. 

Thus  resolving,  with  a  kind  of  sullen  resignation,  if  such 
a  term  may  be  allowed,  I  wended  my  way  to  Eyecote  Farm, 
scarcely  expecting  to  find  its  owner  within  at  this  time  of 
day,  but  hoping  to  learn  in  what  part  of  the  premises  he  was 
most  likely  to  be  found. 

Absent  he  was,  but  expected  home  in  a  few  minutes  ;  and 
I  was  desired  to  step  into  the  parlour  and  wait.  Mrs.  Wilson 
was  busy  in  the  kitchen,  but  the  room  was  not  empty  ;  and 
I  scarcely  checked  an  involuntary  recoil  as  I  entered  it ;  for 
there  sat  Miss  Wilson  chattering  with  Eliza  Millward.  How- 
ever, I  determined  to  be  cool  and  civil.  Eliza  seemed  to 
have  made  the  same  resolution  on  her  part.  We  had  not 
met  since  the  evening  of  the  tea-party;  but  there  was  no 
visible  emotion  either  of  pleasure  or  pain,  no  attempt  at 
pathos,  no  display  of  injured  pride  :  she  was  cool  in  temper, 
civil  in  demeanour.  There  was  even  an  ease  and  cheerful- 
ness about  her  air  and  manner  that  I  made  no  pretension  to ; 
but  there  was  a  depth  of  malice  in  her  too  expressive  eye 
that  plainly  told  me  I  was  not  forgiven ;  for,  though  she  no 
longer  hoped  to  win  me  to  herself,  she  still  hated  her  rival, 
and  evidently  delighted  to  wreak  her  spite  on  me.  On  the 
other  hand,  Miss  Wilson  was  as  affable  and  courteous  as 
heart  could  wish,  and  though  I  was  in  no  very  conversable 
humour  myself,  the  two  ladies  between  them  managed  to 
keep  up  a  pretty  continuous  fire  of  small  talk.  But  Eliza 
took  advantage  of  the  first  convenient  pause  to  ask  if  I 
had  lately  seen  Mrs.  Graham,  in  a  tone  of  merely  casual 
inquiry,  but  with  a -sidelong  glance — intended  to  be  play- 
fully mischievous — really,  brimful  and  running  over  with 
malice. 

'  Not  lately,'  I  replied,  in  a  careless  tone,  but  sternly  re- 
pelling her  odious  glances  with  my  eyes  ;  for  I  was  vexed  to 


110  THE  TENANT  OF 

feel  the  colour  mounting  to  my  forehead,  despite  my  strenu- 
ous efforts  to  appear  unmoved. 

I  What !  are  you  beginning  to  tire  already  ?    I  thought  so 
noble  a  creature  would  have  power  to  attach  you  for  a  year 
at  least ! ' 

'  I  would  rather  not  speak  of  her  now.' 

'  Ah  !  then  you  are  convinced,  at  last,  of  your  mistake — 
you  have  at  length  discovered  that  your  divinity  is  not  quite 
the  immaculate 

I 1  desired  you  not  to  speak  of  her,  Miss  Eliza.' 

'  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon !  I  perceive  Cupid's  arrows 
have  been  too  sharp  for  you  :  the  wounds,  being  more  than 
skin-deep,  are  not  yet  healed,  and  bleed  afresh  at  every 
mention  of  the  loved  one's  name.' 

'  Say,  rather,'  interposed  Miss  Wilson,  '  that  Mr.  Mark- 
ham  feels  that  name  is  unworthy  to  be  mentioned  in  the 
presence  of  right-minded  females.  I  wonder,  Eliza,  you 
should  think  of  referring  to  that  unfortunate  person — you 
might  know  the  mention  of  her  would  be  anything  but 
agreeable  to  any  one  here  present.' 

How  could  this  be  borne  ?  I  rose  and  was  about  to  clap 
my  hat  upon  my  head  and  burst  away,  in  wrathful  indigna- 
tion from  the  house ;  but  recollecting — just  in  time  to  save 
my  dignity — the  folly  of  such  a  proceeding,  and  how  it  would 
only  give  my  fair  tormentors  a  merry  laugh  at  my  expense, 
for  the  sake  of  one  I  acknowledged  in  my  own  heart  to  be 
unworthy  of  the  slightest  sacrifice — though  the  ghost  of  my 
former  reverence  and  love  so  hung  about  me  still,  that  I 
could  not  bear  to  hear  her  name  aspersed  by  others — I 
merely  walked  to  the  window,  and  having  spent  a  few 
seconds  in  vengibly  biting  my  lips  and  sternly  repressing  the 
passionate  heavings  of  my  chest,  I  observed  to  Miss  Wilson, 
that  I  could  see  nothing  of  her  brother,  and  added  that,  as 
my  time  was  precious,  it  would  perhaps  be  better  to  call 
again  to-morrow,  at  some  time  when  I  should  be  sure  to  find 
him  at  home. 

'  Oh,  no ! '  said  she ;  '  if  you  wait  a  minute,  he  will  be 


WILDFELL  HALL  111 

sure  to  come  ;  for  he  has  business  at  L '  (that  was  our 

market-town),  '  and  will  require  a  little  refreshment  before 
he  goes.' 

I  submitted  accordingly,  with  the  best  grace  I  could ; 
and,  happily,  I  had  not  long  to  wait.  Mr.  Wilson  soon 
arrived,  and,  indisposed  for  business  as  I  was  at  that 
moment,  and  little  as  I  cared  for  the  field  or  its  owner,  I 
forced  my  attention  to  the  matter  in  hand,  with  very  credit- 
able determination,  and  quickly  concluded  the  bargain — 
perhaps  more  to  the  thrifty  farmer's  satisfaction  than  he 
cared  to  acknowledge.  Then,  leaving  him  to  the  discussion 
of  his  substantial  '  refreshment,'  I  gladly  quitted  the  house, 
and  went  to  look  after  my  reapers. 

Leaving  them  busy  at  work  on  the  side  of  the  valley,  I 
ascended  the  hill,  intending  to  visit  a  corn-field  in  the  more 
elevated  regions,  and  see  when  it  would  be  ripe  for  the  sickle. 
But  I  did  not  visit  it  that  day;  for,  as  I  approached,  I 
beheld,  at  no  great  distance,  Mrs.  Graham  and  her  son 
coming  down  in  the  opposite  direction.  They  saw  me ;  and 
Arthur  already  was  running  to  meet  me  ;  but  I  immediately 
turned  back  and  walked  steadily  homeward ;  for  I  had  fully 
determined  never  to  encounter  his  mother  again ;  and 
regardless  of  the  shrill  voice  in  my  ear,  calling  upon  me  to 
'  wait  a  moment,'  I  pursued  the  even  tenor  of  my  way ;  and 
he  soon  relinquished  the  pursuit  as  hopeless,  or  was  called 
away  by  his  mother.  At  all  events,  when  I  looked  back,  five 
minutes  after,  not  a  trace  of  either  was  to  be  seen. 

This  incident  agitated  and  disturbed  me  most  unaccount- 
ably— unless  you  would  account  for  it  by  saying  that  Cupid's 
arrows  not  only  had  been  too  sharp  for  me,  but  they  were 
barbed  and  deeply  rooted,  and  I  had  not  yet  been  able  to 
wrench  them  from  my  heart.  However  that  be,  I  was 
rendered  doubly  miserable  for  the  remainder  of  the  day 


CHAPTEK  XIV 

NEXT  morning,  I  bethought  me,  I,  too,  had  business  at  L ; 

so  I  mounted  my  horse,  and  set  forth  on  the  expedition  soon 
after  breakfast.  It  was  a  dull,  drizzly  day ;  but  that  was 
no  matter :  it  was  all  the  more  suitable  to  my  frame  of  mind. 
It  was  likely  to  be  a  lonely  journey  ;  for  it  was  no  market- 
day,  and  the  road  I  traversed  was  little  frequented  at  any 
other  time ;  but  that  suited  me  all  the  better  too. 

As  I  trotted  along,  however,  chewing  the  cud  of — bitter 
fancies,  I  heard  another  horse  at  no  great  distance  behind 
me;  but  I  never  conjectured  who  the  rider  might  be,  or 
troubled  my  head  about  him,  till,  on  slackening  my  pace  to 
ascend  a  gentle  acclivity,  or  rather,  suffering  my  horse  to 
slacken  his  pace  into  a  lazy  walk — for,  rapt  in  my  own 
reflections,  I  was  letting  it  jog  on  as  leisurely  as  it  thought 
proper — I  lost  ground,  and  my  fellow-traveller  overtook  me 
He  accosted  me  by  name,  for  it  was  no  stranger — it  was 
Mr.  Lawrence  !  Instinctively  the  fingers  of  my  whip-hand 
tingled,  and  grasped  their  charge  with  convulsive  energy ; 
but  I  restrained  the  impulse,  and  answering  his  salutation 
with  a  nod,  attempted  to  push  on ;  but  he  pushed  on  beside 
me,  and  began  to  talk  about  the  weather  and  the  crops.  I 
gave  the  briefest  possible  answers  to  his  queries  and  observa- 
tions, and  fell  back.  He  fell  back  too,  and  asked  if  my  horse 
was  lame.  I  replied  with  a  look,  at  which  he  placidly  smiled. 

I  was  as  much  astonished  as  exasperated  at  this  singular 
pertinacity  and  imperturbable  assurance  on  his  part.  I  had 
thought  the  circumstances  of  our  last  meeting  would  have 
left  such  an  impression  on  his  mind  as  to  render  him  cold 


WILDFELL  HALL  113 

and  distant  ever  after  :  instead  of  that,  he  appeared  not  only 
to  have  forgotten  all  former  offences,  but  to  be  impenetrable 
to  all  present  incivilities.  Formerly,  the  slightest  hint,  or 
mere  fancied  coldness  in  tone  or  glance,  had  sufficed  to  repulse 
him  :  now,  positive  rudeness  could  not  drive  him  away.  Had 
he  heard  of  my  disappointment ;  and  was  he  come  to  witness 
the  result,  and  triumph  in  my  despair  ?  I  grasped  my  whip 
with  more  determined  energy  than  before — but  still  forbore 
to  raise  it,  and  rode  on  in  silence,  waiting  for  some  more 
tangible  cause  of  offence,  before  I  opened  the  floodgates  of 
my  soul  and  poured  out  the  dammed-up  fury  that  was 
foaming  and  swelling  within. 

'  Markham,'  said  he,  in  his  usual  quiet  tone,  '  why  do  you 
quarrel  with  your  friends,  because  you  have  been  disappointed 
in  one  quarter  ?  You  have  found  your  hopes  defeated ;  but 
how  am  I  to  blame  for  it  ?  I  warned  you  beforehand,  you 

know,  but  you  would  not ' 

He  said  no  more ;  for,  impelled  by  some  fiend  at  my 
elbow,  I  had  seized  my  whip  by  the  small  end,  and — swift 
and  sudden  as  a  flash  of  lightning — brought  the  other 
down  upon  his  head.  It  was  not  without  a  feeling  of  savage 
satisfaction  that  I  beheld  the  instant,  deadly  pallor  that 
overspread  his  face,  and  the  few  red  drops  that  trickled  down 
his  forehead,  while  he  reeled  a  moment  in  his  saddle,  and 
then  fell  backward  to  the  ground.  The  pony,  surprised  to 
be  so  strangely  relieved  of  its  burden,  started  and  capered, 
and  kicked  a  little,  and .  then  made  use  of  its  freedom  to  go 
and  crop  the  grass  of  the  hedge-bank :  while  its  master  lay 
as  still  and  silent  as  a  corpse.  Had  I  killed  him  ? — an  icy 
hand  seemed  to  grasp  my  heart  and  check  its  pulsation,  as  I 
bent  over  him,  gazing  with  breathless  intensity  upon  the 
ghastly,  upturned  face.  But  no;  he  moved  his  eyelids  and 
uttered  a  slight  groan.  I  breathed  again — he  was  only 
stunned  by  the  fall.  It  served  him  right — it  would  teach  him 
better  manners  in  future.  Should  I  help  him  to  his  horse  ? 
No.  For  any  other  combination  of  offences  I  would  ;  but 
his  were  too  unpardonable.  He  might  mount  it  himself,  if 


114  THE   TENANT   OF 

he  liked — in  a  while :  already  he  was  beginning  to  stir  and 
look  about  him — and  there  it  was  for  him,  quietly  browsing 
on  the  road -side. 

So  with  a  muttered  execration  I  left  the  fellow  to  his  fate, 
and  clapping  spurs  to  my  own  horse,  galloped  away,  excited 
by  a  combination  of  feelings  it  would  not  be  easy  to  analyse  ; 
and  perhaps,  if  I  did  so,  the  result  would  not  be  very  creditable 
to  my  disposition  ;  for  I  am  not  sure  that  a  species  of  exulta- 
tion in  what  I  had  done  was  not  one  principal  concomitant. 

Shortly,  however,  the  effervescence  began  to  abate,  and 
not  many  minutes  elapsed  before  I  had  turned  and  gone  back 
to  look  after  the  fate  of  my  victim.  It  was  no  generous 
impulse — no  kind  relentings  that  led  me  to  this— nor  even 
the  fear  of  what  might  be  the  consequences  to  myself,  if  I 
finished  my  assault  upon  the  squire  by  leaving  him  thus 
neglected,  and  exposed  to  further  injury ;  it  was,  simply,  the 
voice  of  conscience ;  and  I  took  great  credit  to  myself  for 
attending  so  promptly  to  its  dictates — and  judging  the  merit 
of  the  deed  by  the  sacrifice  it  cost,  I  was  not  far  wrong. 

Mr.  Lawrence  and  his  pony  had  both  altered  their 
positions  in  some  degree.  The  pony  had  wandered  eight  or 
ten  yards  further  away  ;  and  he  had  managed,  somehow,  to 
remove  himself  from  the  middle  of  the  road :  I  found  him 
seated  in  a  recumbent  position  on  the  bank, — looking  very 
white  and  sickly  still,  and  holding  his  cambric  handkerchief 
(now  more  red  than  white)  to  his  head.  It  must  have  been 
a  powerful  blow  ;  but  half  the  credit — or  the  blame  of  it 
(which  you  please)  must  be  attributed  to  the  whip,  which 
was  garnished  with  a  massive  horse's  head  of  plated  metal. 
The  grass,  being  sodden  with  rain,  afforded  the  young 
gentleman  a  rather  inhospitable  couch;  his  clothes  were 
considerably  bemired ;  and  his  hat  was  rolling  in  the  mud, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  road.  But  his  thoughts  seemed 
chiefly  bent  upon  his  pony,  on  which  he  was  wistfully 
gazing — half  in  helpless  anxiety,  and  half  in  hopeless 
abandonment  to  his  fate. 

I   dismounted,  however,  and   having  fastened  my  own 


WILDFELL  HALL  115 

animal  to  the  nearest  tree,  first  picked  up  his  hat,  intending 
to  clap  it  on  his  head ;  but  either  he  considered  his  head 
unfit  for  a  hat,  or  the  hat,  in  its  present  condition,  unfit  for 
his  head ;  for  shrinking  away  the  one,  he  took  the  other  from 
my  hand,  and  scornfully  cast  it  aside. 

'  It's  good  enough  for  you,'  I  muttered. 

My  next  good  office  was  to  catch  his  pony  and  bring  it 
to  him,  which  was  soon  accomplished ;  for  the  beast  was 
quiet  enough  in  the  main,  and  only  winced  and  flirted  a 
trifle  till  I  got  hold  of  the  bridle — but  then,  I  must  see  him  in 
the  saddle. 

'  Here,  you  fellow — scoundrel — dog — give  me  your  hand, 
and  I'll  help  you  to  mount.' 

No  ;  he  turned  from  me  in  disgust.  I  attempted  to  take 
him  by  the  arm.  He  shrank  away  as  if  there  had  been  con- 
tamination in  my  touch. 

'  What,  you  won't !  Well !  you  may  sit  there  till 
doomsday,  for  what  I  care.  But  I  suppose  you  don't  want 
to  lose  all  the  blood  in  your  body — I'll  just  condescend  to 
bind  that  up  for  you.' 

'  Let  me  alone,  if  you  please.' 

'  Humph ;  with  all  my  heart.  You  may  go  to  the  d 1, 

if  you  choose — and  say  I  sent  you.' 

But  before  I  abandoned  him  to  his  fate  I  flung  his  pony's 
bridle  over  a  stake  in  the  hedge,  and  threw  him  my  handker- 
chief, as  his  own  was  now  saturated  with  blood.  He  took  it 
and  cast  it  back  to  me  in  abhorrence  and  contempt,  with  all 
the  strength  he  could  muster.  It  wanted  but  this  to  fill  the 
measure  of  his  offences.  With  execrations  not  loud  but  deep 
I  left  him  to  live  or  die  as  he  could,  well  satisfied  that  I  had 
done  my  duty  in  attempting  to  save  him — but  forgetting  how 
I  had  erred  in  bringing  him  into  such  a  condition,  and  how 
insultingly  my  after-services  had  been  offered — and  sullenly 
prepared  to  meet  the  consequences  if  he  should  choose  to  say 
I  had  attempted  to  murder  him — which  I  thought  not  unlikely, 
as  it  seemed  probable  he  was  actuated  by  such  spiteful 
motives  in  so  perseveringly  refusing  my  assistance. 


116  THE   TENANT   OF 

Having  remounted  my  horse,  I  just  looked  back  to  see 
how  he  was  getting  on,  before  I  rode  away.  He  had  risen 
from  the  ground,  and  grasping  his  pony's  mane,  was 
attempting  to  resume  his  seat  in  the  saddle  ;  but  scarcely 
had  he  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  when  a  sickness  or  dizziness 
seemed  to  overpower  him :  he  leant  forward  a  moment,  with 
his  head  drooped  on  the  animal's  back,  and  then  made  one 
more  effort,  which  proving  ineffectual,  he  sank  back  on  the 
bank,  where  I  left  him,  reposing  his  head  on  the  oozy  turf, 
and  to  all  appearance,  as  calmly  reclining  as  if  he  had  been 
taking  his  rest  on  his  sofa  at  home. 

I  ought  to  have  helped  him  in  spite  of  himself — to  have 
bound  up  the  wound  he  was  unable  to  staunch,  and  insisted 
upon  getting  him  on  his  horse  and  seeing  him  safe  home  ; 
but,  besides  my  bitter  indignation  against  himself,  there  was 
the  question  what  to  say  to  his  servants — and  what  to  my 
own  family.  Either  I  should  have  to  acknowledge  the  deed, 
which  would  set  me  down  as  a  madman,  unless  I 
acknowledged  the  motive  too — and  that  seemed  impossible 
— or  I  must  get  up  a  lie,  which  seemed  equally  out  of  the 
question — especially  as  Mr.  Lawrence  would  probably 
reveal  the  whole  truth,  and  thereby  bring  me  to  tenfold  dis- 
grace— unless  I  were  villain  enough,  presuming  on  the 
absence  of  witnesses,  to  persist  in  my  own  version  of  the 
case,  and  make  him  out  a  still  greater  scoundrel  than  he 
was.  No ;  he  had  only  received  a  cut  above  the  temple, 
and  perhaps  a  few  bruises  from  the  fall,  or  the  hoofs  of  his 
own  pony  :  that  could  not  kill  him  if  he  lay  there  half  the 
day;  and,  if  he  could  not  help  himself,  surely  some  one 
would  be  coming  by  :  it  would  be  impossible  that  a  whole 
day  should  pass  and  no  one  traverse  the  road  but  ourselves. 
As  for  what  he  might  choose  to  say  hereafter,  I  would  take 
my  chance  about  it  :  if  he  told  lies,  I  would  contradict  him  ; 
if  he  told  the  truth,  I  would  bear  it  as  best  I  could.  I  was 
not  obliged  to  enter  into  explanations  further  than  I  thought 
proper.  Perhaps  he  might  choose  to  be  silent  on  the  subject, 
for  fear  of  raising  inquiries  as  to  the  cause  of  the  quarrel, 


WILDFELL  HALL  117 

and  drawing  the  public  attention  to  his  connection  with 
Mrs.  Graham,  which,  whether  for  her  sake  or  his  own,  he 
seemed  so  very  desirous  to  conceal. 

Thus  reasoning,  I  trotted  away  to  the  town,  where  I  duly 
transacted  my  business,  and  performed  various  little  com- 
missions for  my  mother  and  Eose,  with  very  laudable 
exactitude,  considering  the  different  circumstances  of  the 
case.  In  returning  home,  I  was  troubled  with  sundry  mis- 
givings about  the  unfortunate  Lawrence.  The  question, 
What  if  I  should  find  him  lying  still  on  the  damp  earth, 
fairly  dying  of  cold  and  exhaustion — or  already  stark  and 
chill  ?  thrust  itself  most  unpleasantly  upon  my  mind,  and 
the  appalling  possibility  pictured  itself  with  painful  vivid- 
ness to  my  imagination  as  I  approached  the  spot  where  I 
had  left  him.  But  no,  thank  heaven,  both  man  and  horse 
were  gone,  and  nothing  was  left  to  witness  against  me  but 
two  objects — unpleasant  enough  in  themselves  to  be  sure, 
and  presenting  a  very  ugly,  not  to  say  murderous  appear- 
ance— in  one  place,  the  hat  saturated  with  rain  and  coated 
with  mud,  indented  and  broken  above  the  brim  by  that 
villainous  whip-handle  ;  in  another,  the  crimson  handker- 
chief, soaking  in  a  deeply  tinctured  pool  of  water — for  much 
rain  had  fallen  in  the  interim. 

Bad  news  flies  fast :  it  was  hardly  four  o'clock  when  I  got 
home,  but  my  mother  gravely  accosted  me  with — '  Oh, 
Gilbert ! — Such  an  accident !  Eose  has  been  shopping  in 
the  village,  and  she's  heard  that  Mr.  Lawrence  has  been 
thrown  from  his  horse  and  brought  home  dying  !  ' 

'  This  shocked  me  a  trifle,  as  you  may  suppose ;  but  I 
was  comforted  to  hear  that  he  had  frightfully  fractured  his 
skull  and  broken  a  leg ;  for,  assured  of  the  falsehood  of  this, 
I  trusted  the  rest  of  the  story  was  equally  exaggerated  ;  and 
when  I  heard  my  mother  and  sister  so  feelingly  deploring 
his  condition,  I  had  considerable  difficulty  in  preventing 
myself  from  telling  them  the  real  extent  of  the  injuries,  as  far 
as  I  knew  them. 

'  You  must  go  and  see  him  to-morrow,'  said  my  mother. 


118  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  Or  to-day/  suggested  Kose  :  '  there's  plenty  of  time  ; 
and  you  can  have  the  pony,  as  your  horse  is  tired.  Won't 
you,  Gilbert — as  soon  as  you've  had  something  to  eat? ' 

'  No,  no — how  can  we  tell  that  it  isn't  all  a  false  report  ? 
It's  highly  im ' 

1  Oh,  I'm  sure  it  isn't ;  for  the  village  is  all  alive  about 
it ;  and  I  saw  two  people  that  had  seen  others  that  had  seen 
the  man  that  found  him.  That  sounds  far-fetched  ;  but  it 
isn't  so  when  you  think  of  it.' 

'  Well,  but  Lawrence  is  a  good  rider ;  it  is  not  likely  he 
would  fall  from  his  horse  at  all ;  and  if  he  did,  it  is  highly 
improbable  he  would  break  his  bones  in  that  way.  It  must 
be  a  gross  exaggeration  at  least.' 

'  No  ;  but  the  horse  kicked  him — or  something.' 

'  What,  his  quiet  little  pony  ?  ' 

'  How  do  you  know  it  was  that  ?  ' 

'  He  seldom  rides  any  other.' 

'  At  any  rate,'  said  my  mother,  '  you  will  call  to-morrow. 
Whether  it  be  true  or  false,  exaggerated  or  otherwise,  we 
shall  like  to  know  how  he  is.' 

'  Fergus  may  go.' 

'  Why  not  you  ? ' 

'  He  has  more  time.     I  am  busy  just  now.' 

'  Oh  !  but,  Gilbert,  how  can  you  be  so  composed  about  it  ? 
You  won't  mind  business  for  an  hour  or  two  in  a  case  of  this 
sort,  when  your  friend  is  at  the  point  of  death.' 

'  He  is  not,  I  tell  you.' 

'  For  anything  you  know,  he  may  be  :  you  can't  tell  till 
you  have  seen  him.  At  all  events,  he  must  have  met  with 
some  terrible  accident,  and  you  ought  to  see  him  :  he'll  take 
it  very  unkind  if  you  don't.' 

'  Confound  it !  I  can't.  He  and  I  have  not  been  on  good 
terms  of  late.' 

'  Oh,  my  dear  boy  !  Surely,  surely  you  are  not  so  un- 
forgiving as  to  carry  your  little  differences  to  such  a  length 
as 

'  Little  differences,  indeed  !  '  I  muttered, 


WILDFELL  HALL  119 

'  Well,  but  only  remember  the  occasion.     Think  how ' 

'  Well,  well,  don't  bother  me  now — I'll  see  about  it,'  I 
replied. 

And  my  seeing  about  it  was  to  send  Fergus  next  morn- 
ing, with  my  mother's  compliments,  to  make  the  requisite 
inquiries ;  for,  of  course,  my  going  was  out  of  the  question — 
or  sending  a  message  either.  He  brought  back  intelligence 
that  the  young  squire  was  laid  up  with  the  complicated  evils 
of  a  broken  head  and  certain  contusions  (occasioned  by  a 
fall — of  which  he  did  not  trouble  himself  to  relate  the  parti- 
culars— and  the  subsequent  misconduct  of  his  horse),  and  a 
severe  cold,  the  consequence  of  lying  on  the  wet  ground  in 
the  rain ;  but  there  were  no  broken  bones1,  and  no  immediate 
prospects  of  dissolution. 

It  was  evident,  then,  that  for  Mrs.  Graham's  sake  it  was 
not  his  intention  to  criminate  me. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THAT  day  was  rainy  like  its  predecessor ;  but  towards 
evening  it  began  to  clear  up  a  little,  and  the  next  morning 
was  fair  and  promising.  I  was  out  on  the  hill  with  the 
reapers.  A  light  wind  swept  over  the  corn,  and  all  nature 
laughed  in  the  sunshine.  The  lark  was  rejoicing  among  the 
silvery  floating  clouds.  The  late  rain  had  so  sweetly 
freshened  and  cleared  the  air,  and  washed  the  sky,  and  left 
such  glittering  gems  'on  branch  and  blade,  that  not  even  the 
farmers  could  have  the  heart  to  blame  it.  But  no  ray  of 
sunshine  could  reach  my  heart,  no  breeze  could  freshen  it ; 
nothing  could  fill  the  void  my  faith,  and  hope,  and  joy  in 
Helen  Graham  had  left,  or  drive  away  the  keen  regrets  and 
bitter  dregs  of  lingering  love  that  still  oppressed  it. 

While  I  stood  with  folded  arms  abstractedly  gazing  on 
the  undulating  swell  of  the  corn,  not  yet  disturbed  by  the 
reapers,  something  gently  pulled  my  skirts,  and  a  small 
voice,  no  longer  welcome  to  my  ears,  aroused  me  with  the 
startling  words,—'  Mr.  Markham,  mamma  wants  you.' 

1  Wants  me,  Arthur  ?  ' 

'  Yes.  Why  do  you  look  so  queer  ?  '  said  he,  half  laugh- 
ing, half  frightened  at  the  unexpected  aspect  of  my  face  in 
suddenly  turning  towards  him, — '  and  why  have  you  kept  so 
long  away  ?  Come !  Won't  you  come  ?  ' 

'  I'm  busy  just  now,'  I  replied,  scarce  knowing  what  to 
answer. 

He  looked  up  in  childish  bewilderment  ;  but  before  I 
could  speak  again  the  lady  herself  was  at  my  side. 


WILDFELL  HALL  121 

\  '  Gilbert,  I  must  speak  with  you ! '  said  she,  in  a  tone  of 
suppressed  vehemence. 

I  looked  at  her  pale  cheek  and  glittering  eye,  but  answered 
nothing. 

'  Only  for  a  moment,'  pleaded  she.  '  Just  step  aside  into 
this  other  field.'  She  glanced  at  the  reapers,  some  of  whom 
were  directing  looks  of  impertinent  curiosity  towards  her. 
'  I  won't  keep  you  a  minute.' 

I  accompanied  her  through  the  gap. 

'Arthur,  darling,  run  and  gather  those  bluebells,'  said 
she,  pointing  to  some  that  were  gleaming  at  some  distance 
under  the  hedge  along  which  we  walked.  The  child  hesitated, 
as  if  unwilling  to  quit  my  side.  '  Go,  love  !  '  repeated  she 
more  urgently,  and  in  a  tone  which,  though  not  unkind, 
demanded  prompt  obedience,  and  obtained  it. 

'  Well,  Mrs.  Graham  ?  '  said  I,  calmly  and  coldly ;  for, 
though  I  saw  she  was  miserable,  and  pitied  her,  I  felt  glad  to 
have  it  in  my  power  to  torment  her. 

She  fixed  her  eyes  upon  me  with  a  look  that  pierced  me 
to  the  heart ;  and  yet  it  made  me  smile. 

'  I  don't  ask  the  reason  of  this  change,  Gilbert,'  said  she, 
with  bitter  calmness :  '  I  know  it  too  well ;  but  though  I 
could  see  myself  suspected  and  condemned  by  every  one 
else,  and  bear  it  with  calmness,  I  cannot  endure  it  from  you. 
—Why  did  you  not  come  to  hear  my  explanation  on  the  day 
I  appointed  to  give  it  ?  ' 

'Because  I  happened,  in  the  interim,  to  learn  all  you 
would  have  told  me — and  a  trifle  more,  I  imagine.' 

'  Impossible,  for  I  would  have  told  you  all ! '  cried  she, 
passionately — '  but  I  won't  now,  for  I  see  you  are  not  worthy 
of  it!' 

And  her  pale  lips  quivered  with  agitation. 

'  Why  not,  may  I  ask  ? ' 

She  repelled  my  mocking  smile  with  a  glance  of  scornful 
indignation. 

'Because  you  never  understood  me,  or  you  would  not 
soon  have  listened  to  my  traducers — my  confidence  would  be 
I 


122  THE  TENANT  OP 

misplaced  in  you — you  are  not  the  man  I  thought  you.     Go  ! 
I  won't  care  what  you  think  of  me.' 

She  turned  away,  and  I  went ;  for  I  thought  that  would 
torment  her  as  much  as  anything  ;  and  I  believe  I  was  right ; 
for,  looking  back  a  minute  after,  I  saw  her  turn  half  round, 
as  if  hoping  or  expecting  to  find  me  still  beside  her ;  and 
then  she  stood  still,  and  cast  one  look  behind.  It  was  a  look 
less  expressive  of  anger  than  of  bitter  anguish  and  despair  ; 
but  I  immediately  assumed  an  aspect  of  indifference,  and 
affected  to  be  gazing  carelessly  around  me,  and  I  suppose  she 
went  on ;  for  after  lingering  awhile  to  see  if  she  would  come 
back  or  call,  I  ventured  one  more  glance,  and  saw  her  a 
good  way  off,  moving  rapidly  up  the  field,  with  little 
Arthur  running  by  her  side  and  apparently  talking  as  he 
went ;  but  she  kept  her  face  averted  from  him,  as  if  to 
hide  some  uncontrollable  emotion.  And  I  returned  to  my 
business. 

But  I  soon  began  to  regret  my  precipitancy  in  leaving  her 
so  soon.  It  was  evident  she  loved  me — probably  she  was 
tired  of  Mr.  Lawrence,  and  wished  to  exchange  him  for  me ; 
and  if  I  had  loved  and  reverenced  her  less  to  begin  with,  the 
preference  might  have  gratified  and  amused  me  ;  but  now  the 
contrast  between  her  outward  seeming  and  her  inward  mind, 
as  I  supposed, — between  my  former  and  my  present  opinion 
of  her,  was  so  harrowing — so  distressing  to  my  feelings,  that 
it  swallowed  up  every  lighter  consideration. 

But  still  I  was  curious  to  know  what  sort  of  an  explana- 
tion she  would  have  given  me — or  would  give  now,  if  I 
pressed  her  for  it — how  much  she  would  confess,  and  how 
she  would  endeavour  to  excuse  herself.  I  longed  to  know 
what  to  despise,  and  what  to  admire  in  her ;  how  much  to 
pity,  and  how  much  to  hate  ; — and,  what  was  more,  I  would 
know.  I  would  see  her  once  more,  and  fairly  satisfy  myself 
in  what  light  to  regard  her,  before  we  parted.  Lost  to  me 
she  was,  for  ever,  of  course  ;  but  still  I  could  not  bear  to 
think  that  we  had  parted,  for  the  last  time,  with  so  much 
unkindness  and  misery  on  both  sides.  That  last  look  of  hers 

I 


WILDFELL  HALL  123 

had  sunk  into  my  heart ;  I  could  not  forget  it.  But  what  a 
fool  I  was  !  Had  she  not  deceived  me,  injured  me — blighted 
my  happiness  for  life  ?  '  Well,  I'll  see  her,  however,'  was 
my  concluding  resolve,  '  but  not  to-day :  to-day  and  to-night 
she  may  think  upon  her  sins,  and  be  as  miserable  as  she  will : 
to-morrow  I  will  see  her  once  again,  and  know  something 
more  about  her.  The  interview  may  be  serviceable  to  her,  or 
it  may  not.  At  any  rate,  it  will  give  a  breath  of  excitement 
to  the  life  she  has  doomed  to  stagnation,  and  may  calm  with 
certainty  some  agitating  thoughts.' 

I  did  go  on  the  morrow,  but  not  till  towards  evening,  after 
the  business  of  the  day  was  concluded,  that  is,  between  six 
and  seven  ;  and  the  westering  sun  was  gleaming  redly  on  the 
old  Hall,  and  flaming  in  the  latticed  windows,  as  I  reached 
it,  imparting  to  the  place  a  cheerfulness  not  its  own.  I  need 
not  dilate  upon  the  feelings  with  which  I  approached  the 
shrine  of  my  former  divinity — that  spot  teeming  with  a 
thousand  delightful  recollections  and  glorious  dreams — all 
darkened  now  by  one  disastrous  truth 

Eachel  admitted  me  into  the  parlour,  and  went  to  call  her 
mistress,  for  she  was  'not  there :  but  there  was  her  desk  left 
open  on  the  little  round  table  beside  the  high-backed  chair, 
with  a  book  laid  upon  it.  Her  limited  but  choice  collection 
of  books  was  almost  as  familiar  to  me  as  my  own ;  but  this 
volume  I  had  not  seen  before.  I  took  it  up.  It  was  Sir 
Humphry  Davy's  '  Last  Days  of  a  Philosopher/  and  on  the 
first  leaf  was  written,  '  Frederick  Lawrence.'  I  closed  the 
book,  but  kept  it  in  my  hand,  and  stood  facing  the  door,  with 
my  back  to  the  fire-place,  calmly  waiting  her  arrival ;  for  I 
did  not  doubt  she  would  come.  And  soon  I  heard  her  step 
in  the  hall.  My  heart  was  beginning  to  throb,  but  I  checked 
it  with  an  internal  rebuke,  and  maintained  my  composure — 
outwardly  at  least.  She  entered,  calm,  pale,  collected. 

'  To  what  am  I  indebted  for  this  favour,  Mr.  Markham  ? ' 
said  she,  with  such  severe  but  quiet  dignity  as  almost  discon- 
certed me ;  but  I  answered  with  a  smile,  and  impudently 
enough,  — 


124  THE  TENANT   OF 

•     '  Well,  I  am  come  to  hear  your  explanation.' 

'  I  told  you  I  would  not  give  it,'  said  she.  '  I  said  you 
were  unworthy  of  my  confidence.' 

'  Oh,  very  well,'  replied  I,  moving  to  the  door. 

'  Stay  a  moment/  said  she.  '  This  is  the  last  time  I  shall 
see  you  :  don't  go  just  yet.' 

I  remained,  awaiting  her  further  commands. 

'  Tell  me/  resumed  she,  '  on  what  grounds  you  believe 
these  things  against  me ;  who  told  you  ;  and  what  did  they 


say 


I  paused  a  moment.  She  met  my  eye  as  unflinchingly  as 
if  her  bosom  had  been  steeled  with  conscious  innocence. 
She  was  resolved  to  know  the  worst,  and  determined  to  dare 
it  too.  '  I  can  crush  that  bold  spirit/  thought  I.  But  while 
I  secretly  exulted  in  my  power,  I  felt  disposed  to  dally  with 
my  victim  like  a  cat.  Showing  her  the  book  that  I  still  held 
in  my  hand,  and  pointing  to  the  name  on  the  fly-leaf,  but 
fixing  my  eye  upon  her  face,  I  asked, — '  Do  you  know  that 
gentleman  ? ' 

1  Of  course  I  do/  replied  she ;  and  a  sudden  flush  suffused 
her  features — whether  of  shame  or  anger  I  could  not  tell :  't 
rather  resembled  the  latter.  '  What  next,  sir  ?  ' 

1  How  long  is  it  since  you  saw  him  ? ' 

'  Who  gave  you  the  right  to  catechize  me  on  this  or  any 
other  subject  ? ' 

'  Oh,  no  one ! — it's  quite  at  your  option  whether  to  answer 
or  not.  And  now,  let  me  ask — have  you  heard  what  has 
lately  befallen  this  friend  of  yours? — because,  if  you  have 
not ' 

'  1  will  not  be  insulted,  Mr.  Markham  ! '  cried  she,  almost 
infuriated  at  my  manner.  '  So  you  had  better  leave  the  house 
at  once,  if  you  came  only  for  that.' 

'  I  did  not  come  to  insult  you  :  I  came  to  hear  your  expla- 
nation." 

'  And  I  tell  you  I  won't  give  it ! '  retorted  she,  pacing  the 
room  in  a  state  of  strong  excitement,  with  her  hands  clasped 
tightly  together,  breathing  short,  and  flashing  fires  of  indigna- 


WILDFELL  HALL  125 

tion  from  her  eyes.  '  I  will  not  condescend  to  explain  myself 
to  one  that  can  make  a  jest  of  such  horrible  suspicions,  and 
be  so  easily  led  to  entertain  them.' 

'  I  do  not  make  a  jest  of  them,  Mrs.  Graham,'  returned 
I,  dropping  at  once  my  tone  of  taunting  sarcasm.  '  I  heartily 
wish  I  could  find  them  a  jesting  matter.  And  as  to  being 
easily  led  to  suspect,  God  only  knows  what  a  blind,  incredu- 
lous fool  I  have  hitherto  been,  perseveringly  shutting  my  eyes 
and  stopping  my  ears  against  everything  that  threatened  to 
shake  my  confidence  in  you,  till  proof  itself  confounded  my 
infatuation  ! ' 

'  What  proof,  sir  ? ' 

'  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  You  remember  that  evening  when  I 
was  here  last  ?  ' 

'  I  do.' 

'Even  then  you  dropped  some  hints  that  might  have 
opened  the  eyes  of  a  wiser  man  ;  but  they  had  no  such  effect 
upon  me  :  I  went  on  trusting  and  believing,  hoping  against 
hope,  and  adoring  where  I  could  not  comprehend.  It  so 
happened,  however,  that  after  I  left  you  I  turned  back — 
drawn  by  pure  depth  of  sympathy  and  ardour  of  affection — 
not  daring  to  intrude  my  presence  openly  upon  you,  but 
unable  to  resist  the  temptation  of  catching  one  glimpse 
through  the  window,  just  to  see  how  you  were  :  for  I  had  left 
you  apparently  in  great  affliction,  and  I  partly  blamed  my 
own  want  of  forbearance  and  discretion  as  the  cause  of  it. 
If  I  did  wrong,  love  alone  was  my  incentive,  and  the  punish- 
ment was  severe  enough ;  for  it  was  just  as  I  had  reached 
that  tree,  that  you  came  out  into  the  garden  with  your  friend. 
Not  choosing  to  show  myself,  under  the  circumstances,  I 
stood  still,  in  the  shadow,  till  you  had  both  passed  by.' 

'  And  how  much  of  our  conversation  did  you  hear  ? ' 

'  I  heard  quite  enough,  Helen.  And  it  was  well  for  me 
that  I  did  hear  it ;  for  nothing  less  could  have  cured  my 
infatuation.  I  always  said  and  thought,  that  I  would  never 
believe  a  word  against  you,  unless  I  heard  it  from  your  own 
lips.  All  the  hints  and  affirmations  of  others  I  treated  as 


126  THE  TENANT   OF 

malignant,  baseless  slanders ;  your  own  self-accusations  I 
believed  to  be  overstrained ;  and  all  that  seemed  unaccount- 
able in  your  position  I  trusted  that  you  could  account  for  if 
you  chose.' 

Mrs.  Graham  had  discontinued  her  walk.  She  leant 
against  one  end  of  the  chimney-piece,  opposite  that  near 
which  I  was  standing,  with  her  chin  resting  on  her  closed 
hand,  her  eyes — no  longer  burning  with  anger,  but  gleaming 
with  restless  excitement — sometimes  glancing  at  me  while  I 
spoke,  then  coursing  the  opposite  wall,  or  fixed  upon  the 
carpet. 

'  You  should  have  come  to  me  after  all,'  said  she,  '  and 
heard  what  I  had  to  say  in  my  own  justification.  It  was 
ungenerous  and  wrong  to  withdraw  yourself  so  secretly  and 
suddenly,  immediately  after  such  ardent  protestations  of 
attachment,  without  ever  assigning  a  reason  for  the  change. 
You  should  have  told  me  all — no  matter  how  bitterly.  It 
would  have  been  better  than  this  silence.' 

'  To  what  end  should  I  have  done  so  ?  You  could  not 
have  enlightened  me  further,  on  the  subject  which  alone 
concerned  me ;  nor  could  you  have  made  me  discredit  the 
evidence  of  my  senses.  I  desired  our  intimacy  to  be  discon- 
tinued at  once,  as  you  yourself  had  acknowledged  would 
probably  be  the  case  if  I  knew  all ;  but  I  did  not  wish  to 
upbraid  you, — though  (as  you  also  acknowledged)  you  had 
deeply  wronged  me.  Yes,  you  have  done  me  an  injury  you 
can  never  repair — or  any  other  either — you  have  blighted  the 
freshness  and  promise  of  youth,  and  made  my  life  a 
wilderness  !  I  might  live  a  hundred  years,  but  I  could  never 
recover  from  the  effects  of  this  withering  blow — and  never 

forget  it !  Hereafter You  smile,  Mrs.  Graham,'  said  I, 

suddenly  stopping  short,  checked  in  my  passionate  declama- 
tion by  unutterable  feelings  to  behold  her  actually  smiling 
at  the  picture  of  the  ruin  she  had  wrought. 

'  Did  I  ?  '  replied  she,  looking  seriously  up  ;  '  I  was  not 
aware  of  it.  If  I  did,  it  was  not  for  pleasure  at  the  thoughts 
of  the  harm  I  had  done  you.  Heaven  knows  I  have  had 


WILDFELL  HALL  127 

torment  enough  at  the  bare  possibility  of  that ;  it  was  for  joy 
to  find  that  you  had  some  depth  of  soul  and  feeling  after  all, 
and  to  hope  that  I  had  not  been  utterly  mistaken  in  your 
worth.  But  smiles  and  tears  are  so  alike  with  me,  they  are 
neither  of  them  confined  to  any  particular  feelings :  I  often 
cry  when  I  am  happy,  and  smile  when  I  am  sad.' 

She  looked  at  me  again,  and  seemed  to  expect  a  reply ; 
but  I  "continued  silent. 

'  Would  you  be  very  glad,'  resumed  she,  '  to  find  that  you 
were  mistaken  in  your  conclusions  ? ' 

'  How  can  you  ask  it,  Helen  ? ' 

'I  don't  say  I  can  clear  myself  altogether,'  said  she, 
speaking  low  and  fast,  while  her  heart  beat  visibly  and  her 
bosom  heaved  with  excitement, — '  but  would  you  be  glad  to 
discover  I  was  better  than  you  think  me  ? ' 

'  Anything  that  could  in  the  least  degree  tend  to  restore 
my  former  opinion  of  you,  to  excuse  the  regard  I  still  feel 
for  you,  and  alleviate  the  pangs  of  unutterable  regret  that 
accompany  it,  would  be  only  too  gladly,  too  eagerly  received  ! ' 

Her  cheeks  burned,  and  her  whole  frame  trembled,  now, 
with  excess  of  agitation.  She  did  not  speak,  but  flew  to  her 
desk,  and  snatching  thence  what  seemed  a  thick  album  or 
manuscript  volume,  hastily  tore  away  a  few  leaves  from  the 
end,  and  thrust  the  rest  into  my  hand,  saying,  '  You  needn't 
read  it  all ;  but  take  it  home  with  you,'  and  hurried  from  the 
room.  But  when  I  had  left  the  house,  and  was  proceeding 
down  the  walk,  she  opened  the  window  and  called  me  back. 
It  was  only  to  say, — '  Bring  it  back  when  you  have  read  it ; 
and  don't  breathe  a  word  of  what  it  tells  you  to  any  living 
being.  I  trust  to  your  honour.' 

Before  I  could  answer  she  had  closed  the  casement  and 
turned  away.  I  saw  her  cast  herself  back  in  the  old  oak 
chair,  and  cover  her  face  with  her  hands.  Her  feelings  had 
been  wrought  to  a  pitch  that  rendered  it  necessary  to  seek 
relief  in  tears. 

Panting  with  eagerness,  and  struggling  to  suppress  my 
hopes,  I  hurried  home,  and  rushed  up-stairs  to  my  room, 


128  THE   TENANT  OF 

having  first  provided  myself  with  a  candle,  though  it  was 
scarcely  twilight  yet — then,  shut  and  bolted  the  door,  deter- 
mined to  tolerate  no  interruption ;  and  sitting  down  before 
the  table,  opened  out  my  prize  and  delivered  myself  up  to  its 
perusal — first  hastily  turning  over  the  leaves  and  snatching  a 
sentence  here  and  there,  and  then  setting  myself  steadily  to 
read  it  through. 

I  have  it  now  before  me ;  and  though  you  could  not,  of 
course,  peruse  it  with  half  the  interest  that  I  did,  I  know  you 
would  not  be  satisfied  with  an  abbreviation  of  its  contents, 
and  you  shall  have  the  whole,  save,  perhaps,  a  few  passages 
here  and  there  of  merely  temporary  interest  to  the  writer,  or 
such  as  would  serve  to  encumber  the  story  rather  than 
elucidate  it.  It  begins  somewhat  abruptly,  thus — but  we 
will  reserve  its  commencement  for  another  chapter. 


CHAPTEE  XVI 

JUNE  IST,  1821. — We  have  just  returned  to  Staningley — that 
is,  we  returned  some  days  ago,  and  I  am  not  yet  settled,  and 
feel  as  if  I  never  should  be.  We  left  town  sooner  than  was 
intended,  in  consequence  of  my  uncle's  indisposition  ; — I 
wonder  what  would  have  been  the  result  if  we  had  stayed 
the  full  time.  I  am  quite  ashamed  of  my  new-sprung 
distaste  for  country  life.  All  my  former  occupations  seem 
so  tedious  and  dull,  my  former  amusements  so  insipid  and 
unprofitable.  I  cannot  enjoy  my  music,  because  there  is  no 
one  to  hear  it.  I  cannot  enjoy  my  walks,  because  there  is 
no  one  to  meet.  I  cannot  enjoy  my  books,  because  they 
have  not  power  to  arrest  my  attention  :  my  head  is  so 
haunted  with  the  recollections  of  the  last  few  weeks,  that  I 
cannot  attend  to  them.  My  drawing  suits  me  best,  for  I  can 
draw  and  think  at  the  same  time  ;  and  if  my  productions 
cannot  now  be  seen  by  any  one  but  myself,  and  those  who  do 
not  care  about  them,  they,  possibly,  may  be,  hereafter.  But, 
then,  there  is  one  face  I  am  always  trying  to  paint  or  to 
sketch,  and  always  without  success ;  and  that  vexes  me.  As 
for  the  owner  of  that  face,  I  cannot  get  him  out  of  my 
mind — and,  indeed,  I  never  try.  I  wonder  whether  he  ever 
thinks  of  me ;  and  I  wonder  whether  I  shall  ever  see  him 
again.  And  then  might  follow  a  train  of  other  wonder- 
ments— questions  for  time  and  fate  to  answer— concluding 
with — Supposing  all  the  rest  be  answered  in  the  affirmative, 
I  wonder  whether  I  shall  ever  repent  it  ?  as  my  aunt  would 
tell  me  I  should,  if  she  knew  what  I  was  thinking  about. 


130  THE  TENANT  OF 

How  distinctly  I  remember  our  conversation  that  evening 
before  our  departure  for  town,  when  we  were  sitting  together 
over  the  fire,  my  uncle  having  gone  to  bed  with  a  slight 
attack  of  the  gout. 

'  Helen,'  said  she,  after  a  thoughtful  silence,  '  do  you  ever 
think  about  marriage  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  aunt,  often.' 

'And  do  you  ever  contemplate  the  possibility  of  being 
married  yourself,  or  engaged,  before  the  season  is  over  ? ' 

1  Sometimes ;  but  I  don't  think  it  at  all  likely  that  I  ever 
shall.' 

'Why  so?' 

'  Because,  I  imagine,  there  must  be  only  a  very,  very  few 
men  in  the  world  that  I  should  like  to  marry ;  and  of  those 
few,  it  is  ten  to  one  I  may  never  be  acquainted  with  one  ;  or 
if  I  should,  it  is  twenty  to  one  he  may  not  happen  to  be 
single,  or  to  take  a  fancy  to  me.' 

'  That  is  no  argument  at  all.  It  may  be  very  true — and 
I  hope  is  true,  that  there  are  very  few  men  whom  you  would 
choose  to  marry,  of  yourself.  It  is  not,  indeed,  to  be  sup- 
posed that  you  would  wish  to  marry  any  one  till  you  were 
asked  :  a  girl's  affections  should  never  be  won  unsought. 
But  when  they  are  sought — when  the  citadel  of  the  heart  is 
fairly  besieged — it  is  apt  to  surrender  sooner  than  the  owner 
is  aware  of,  and  often  against  her  better  judgment,  and  in 
opposition  to  all  her  preconceived  ideas  of  what  she  could 
have  loved,  unless  she  be  extremely  careful  and  discreet. 
Now,  I  want  to  warn  you,  Helen,  of  these  things,  and  to  ex- 
hort you  to  be  watchful  and  circumspect  from  the  very  com- 
mencement of  your  career,  and  not  to  suffer  your  heart  to  be 
stolen  from  you  by  the  first  foolish  or  unprincipled  person 
that  covets  the  possession  of  it. — You  know,  my  dear,  you 
are  only  just  eighteen ;  there  is  plenty  of  time  before  you,  and 
neither  your  uncle  nor  I  are  in  any  hurry  to  get  you  off  our 
hands,  and  I  may  venture  to  say,  there  will  be  no  lack  of 
suitors ;  for  you  can  boast  a  good  family,  a  pretty  consider- 
able fortune  and  expectations,  and,  I  may  as  well  tell  you 


WILDFELL  HALL  131 

likewise — for,  if  I  don't,  others  will — that  yon  have  a  fair 
share  of  beauty  besides — and  I  hope  you  may  never  have 
cause  to  regret  it ! ' 

'  I  hope  not,  aunt ;  but  why  should  you  fear  it  ?  ' 
'  Because,  my  dear,  beauty  is  that  quality  which,  next  to 
money,  is  generally  the  most  attractive  to  the  worst  kinds  of 
men;    and,  therefore,  it  is  likely  to  entail  a  great  deal   of 
trouble  on  the  possessor.' 

'  Have  you  been  troubled  in  that  way,  aunt  ?  ' 
'  No,  Helen,'  said  she,  with  reproachful  gravity,  '  but  I 
know  many  that  have ;  and  some,  through  carelessness,  have 
been  the  wretched  victims  of  deceit;  and  some,  through 
weakness,  have  fallen  into  snares  and  temptations  terrible  to 
relate.' 

'  Well,  I  shall  be  neither  careless  nor  weak.' 
1  Remember  Peter,  Helen  !  Don't  boast,  but  watch.  Keep 
a  guard  over  your  eyes  and  ears  as  the  inlets  of  your  heart, 
and  over  your  lips  as  the  outlet,  lest  they  betray  you  in  a 
moment  of  unwariness.  Receive,  coldly  and  dispassionately, 
every  attention,  till  you  have  ascertained  and  duly  con- 
sidered the  worth  of  the  aspirant ;  and  let  your  affections  be 
consequent  upon  approbation  alone.  First  study ;  then 
approve  ;  then  love.  Let  your  eyes  be  blind  to  all  external 
attractions,  your  ears  deaf  to  all  the  fascinations  of  flattery 
and  light  discourse. — These  are  nothing — and  worse  than 
nothing — snares  and  wiles  of  the  tempter,  to  lure  the  thought- 
less to  their  own  destruction.  Principle  is  the  first  thing, 
after  all ;  and  next  to  that,  good  sense,  respectability,  and 
moderate  wealth.  If  you  should  marry  the  handsomest,  and 
most  accomplished  and  superficially  agreeable  man  in  the 
world,  you  little  know  the  misery  that  would  overwhelm  you 
if,  after  all,  you  should  find  him  to  be  a  worthless  reprobate, 
or  even  an  impracticable  fool.' 

1  But  what  are  all  the  poor  fools  and  reprobates  to  do, 
aunt  ?  If  everybody  followed  your  advice,  the  world  would 
soon  come  to  an  end.' 

'  Never  fear,  my  dear  1  the  male  fools  and  reprobates  will 


132  THE  TENANT   OF 

never  want  for  partners,  while  there  are  so  many  of  the  other 
sex  to  match  them  ;  but  do  you  follow  my  advice.  And  this 
is  no  subject  for  jesting,  Helen — I  am  sorry  to  see  you  treat 
the  matter  in  that  light  way.  Believe  me,  matrimony  is  a 
serious  thing."  And  she  spoke  it  so  seriously,  that  one  might 
have  fancied  she  had  known  it  to  her  cost ;  but  I  asked  no 
more  impertinent  questions,  and  merely  answered, — '  I  know 
it  is  ;  and  I  know  there  is  truth  and  sense  in  what  you  say ; 
but  you  need  not  fear  me,  for  I  not  only  should  think  it  wrong 
to  marry  a  man  that  was  deficient  in  sense  or  in  principle,  but 
I  should  never  be  tempted  to  do  it ;  for  I  could  not  like  him, 
if  he  were  ever  so  handsome,  and  ever  so  charming,  in  other 
respects  ;  I  should  hate  him — despise  him — pity  him — any- 
thing but  love  him.  My  affections  not  only  ought  to  be 
founded  on  approbation,  but  they  will  and  must  be  so  :  for, 
without  approving,  I  cannot  love.  It  is  needless  to  say,  I 
ought  to  be  able  to  respect  and  honour  the  man  I  marry,  as 
well  as  love  him,  for  I  cannot  love  him  without.  So  set  your 
mind  at  rest.' 

'  I  hope  it  may  be  so,"  answered  she. 

1 1  know  it  is  so,'  persisted  I. 

'  You  have  not  been  tried  yet,  Helen — we  can  but  hope,' 
said  she  in  her  cold,  cautious  way. 

'  I  was  vexed  at  her  incredulity  ;  but  I  am  not  sure  her 
doubts  were  entirely  without  sagacity ;  I  fear  I  have  found  it 
much  easier  to  remember  her  advice  than  to  profit  by  it ; — 
indeed,  I  have  sometimes  been  led  to  question  the  soundness 
of  her  doctrines  on  those  subjects.  Her  counsels  may  be 
good,  as  far  as  they  go — in  the  main  points  at  least ; — but 
there  are  some  things  she  has  overlooked  in  her  calculations. 
I  wonder  if  she  was  ever  in  love. 

I  commenced  my  career — or  my  first  campaign,  as  my 
uncle  calls  it — kindling  with  bright  hopes  and  fancies — chiefly 
raised  by  this  conversation — and  full  of  confidence  in  my  own 
discretion.  At  first,  I  was  delighted  with  the  novelty  and 
excitement  of  our  London  life ;  but  soon  I  began  to  weary  of 
its  mingled  turbulence  and  constraint,  and  sigh  for  the  fresh- 


WILDFELL   HALL  133 

ness  and  freedom  of  home.  My  new  acquaintances,  both 
male  and  female,  disappointed  my  expectations,  and  vexed 
and  depressed  me  by  turns  ;  for  I  soon  grew  tired  of  study- 
ing their  peculiarities,  and  laughing  at  their  foibles — particu- 
larly as  I  was  obliged  to  keep  my  criticisms  to  myself,  for 
my  aunt  would  not  hear  them — and  they — the  ladies 
especially — appeared  so  provokingly  mindless,  and  heartless, 
and  artificial.  The  gentlemen  seemed  better,  but,  perhaps,  it 
was  because  I  knew  them  less — perhaps,  because  they  flattered 
me ;  but  I  did  not  fall  in  love  with  any  of  them ;  and,  if  their 
attentions  pleased  me  one  moment,  they  provoked  me  the 
next,  because  they  put  me  out  of  humour  with  myself,  by  re- 
vealing my  vanity  and  making  me  fear  I  was  becoming  like 
some  of  the  ladies  I  so  heartily  despised. 

There  was  one  elderly  gentleman  that  annoyed  me  very 
much  ;  a  rich  old  friend  of  my  uncle's,  who,  I  believe,  thought 
I  could  not  do  better  than  marry  him ;  but,  besides  being 
old,  he  was  ugly  and  disagreeable, — and  wicked,  I  am  sure, 
though  my  aunt  scolded  me  for  saying  so ;  but  she  allowed 
he  was  no  saint.  And  there  was  another,  less  hateful,  but 
still  more  tiresome,  because  she  favoured  him,  and  was 
always  thrusting  him  upon  me,  and  sounding  his  praises  in 
my  ears — Mr.  Boarham  by  name,  Bore'em,  as  I  prefer  spell- 
ing it,  for  a  terrible  bore  he  was :  I  shudder  still  at  the 
remembrance  of  his  voice — drone,  drone,  drone,  in  my  ear — 
while  he  sat  beside  me,  prosing  away  by  the  half-hour 
together,  and  beguiling  himself  with  the  notion  that  he  was 
improving  my  mind  by  useful  information,  or  impressing  his 
dogmas  upon  me  and  reforming  my  errors  of  judgment,  or 
perhaps  that  he  was  talking  down  to  my  level,  and  amusing 
me  with  entertaining  discourse.  Yet  he  was  a  decent  man 
enough  in  the  main,  I  daresay ;  and  if  he  had  kept  his 
distance,  I  never  would  have  hated  him.  As  it  was,  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  help  it,  for  he  not  only  bothered  me 
with  the  infliction  of  his  own  presence,  but  he  kept  me  from 
the  enjoyment  of  more  agreeable  society. 

One  night,  however,  at  a  ball,  he  had  been  more  than 


134  THE  TENANT  OF 

usually  tormenting,  and  my  patience  was  quite  exhausted. 
It  appeared  as  if  the  whole  evening  was  fated  to  be  insup- 
portable :  I  had  just  had  one  dance  with  an  empty-headed 
coxcomb,  and  then  Mr.  Boarham  had  come  upon  me  and 
seemed  determined  to  cling  to  me  for  the  rest  of  the  night. 
He  never  danced  himself,  and  there  he  sat,  poking  his 
head  in  my  face,  and  impressing  all  beholders  with  the 
idea  that  he  was  a  confirmed,  acknowledged  lover  ;  my  aunt 
looking  complacently  on  all  the  time,  and  wishing  him  God- 
speed. In  vain  I  attempted  to  drive  him  away  by  giving  a 
loose  to  my  exasperated  feelings,  even  to  positive  rudeness  : 
nothing  could  convince  him  that  his  presence  was  disagree- 
able. Sullen  silence  was  taken  for  rapt  attention,  and  gave 
him  greater  room  to  talk ;  sharp  answers  were  received  as 
smart  sallies  of  girlish  vivacity,  that  only  required  an  indulgent 
rebuke  ;  and  flat  contradictions  were  but  as  oil  to  the  flames, 
calling  forth  new  strains  of  argument  to  support  his  dogmas, 
and  bringing  down  upon  me  endless  floods  of  reasoning  to 
overwhelm  me  with  conviction. 

But  there  was  one  present  who  seemed  to  have  a  better 
appreciation  of  my  frame  of  mind.  A  gentleman  stood  by, 
who  had  been  watching  our  conference  for  some  time,  evi- 
dently much  amused  at  my  companion's  remorseless  pertin- 
acity and  my  manifest  annoyance,  and  laughing  to  himself  at 
the  asperity  and  uncompromising  spirit  of  my  replies.  At 
length,  however,  he  withdrew,  and  went  to  the  lady  of  the 
house,  apparently  for  the  purpose  of  asking  an  introduction 
to  me,  for,  shortly  after,  they  both  came  up,  and  she  intro- 
duced him  as  Mr.  Huntingdon,  the  son  of  a  late  friend  of 
my  uncle's.  He  asked  me  to  dance.  I  gladly  consented,  of 
course  ;  and  he  was  my  companion  during  the  remainder  of 
my  stay,  which  was  not  long,  for  my  aunt,  as  usual,  insisted 
upon  an  early  departure. 

I  was  sorry  to  go,  for  I  had  found  my  new  acquaintance 
a  very  lively  and  entertaining  companion.  There  was  a 
certain  graceful  ease  and  freedom  about  all  he  said  and  did, 
that  gave  a  sense  of  repose  and  expansion  to  the  mind,  after 


WILDFELL  HALL  135 

so  much  constraint  and  formality  as  I  had  been  doomed  to 
suffer.  There  might  be,  it  is  true,  a  little  too  much  careless 
boldness  in  his  manner  and  address,  but  I  was  in  so  good  a 
humour,  and  so  grateful  for  my  late  deliverance  from  Mr. 
Boarham,  that  it  did  not  anger  me. 

'  Well,  Helen,  how  do  you  like  Mr.  Boarham  now  ? '  said 
my  aunt,  as  we  took  our  seats  in  the  carriage  and  drove 
away. 

1  Worse  than  ever,'  I  replied. 

She  looked  displeased,  but  said  no  more  on  that  subject. 

'  Who  was  the  gentleman  you  danced  with  last/  resumed 
she,  after  a  pause — '  that  was  so  officious  in  helping  you  on 
with  your  shawl  ? ' 

'  He  was  not  officious  at  all,  aunt :  he  never  attempted  to 
help  me  till  he  saw  Mr.  Boarham  coming  to  do  so  ;  and  then 
he  stepped  laughingly  forward  and  said,  "  Come,  I'll  preserve 
you  from  that  infliction." 

'  Who  was  it,  I  ask  ?  '  said  she,  with  frigid  gravity. 

1  It  was  Mr.  Huntingdon,  the  son  of  uncle's  old  friend.' 

'  I  have  heard  your  uncle  speak  of  young  Mr.  Hunting- 
don. I've  heard  him  say,  "He's  a  fine  lad,  that  young 
Huntingdon,  but  a  bit  wildish,  I  fancy."  So  I'd  have  you 
beware.' 

'  What  does  "  a  bit  wildish  "  mean  ? '  I  inquired. 

'  It  means  destitute  of  principle,  and  prone  to  every  vice 
that  is  common  to  youth.' 

'  But  I've  heard  uncle  say  he  was  a  sad  wild  fellow  him- 
self, when  he  was  young.' 

She  sternly  shook  her  head. 

'  He  was  jesting  then,  I  suppose,'  said  I,  '  and  here  he 
was  speaking  at  random — at  least,  I  cannot  believe  there  is 
an  y  harm  in  those  laughing  blue  eyes.' 

'  False  reasoning,  Helen !  '  said  she,  with  a  sigh. 

'  Well,  we  ought  to  be  charitable,  you  know,  aunt — be- 
sides, I  don't  think  it  is  false :  I  am  an  excellent  physiog- 
nomist, and  I  always  judge  of  people's  characters  by  their 
looks — not  by  whether  they  are  handsome  or  ugly,  but  by 

6 


136  THE  TENANT  OF 

the  general  cast  of  the  countenance.  For  instance,  I 
should  know  by  your  countenance  that  you  were  not  of  a 
cheerful,  sanguine  disposition  ;  and  I  should  know  by  Mr. 
Wilmot's,  that  he  was  a  worthless  old  reprobate ;  and  by 
Mr.  Boarham's,  that  he  was  not  an  agreeable  companion ; 
and  by  Mr.  Huntingdon's,  that  he  was  neither  a  fool  nor  a 
knave,  though,  possibly,  neither  a  sage  nor  a  saint — but  that 
is  no  matter  to  me,  as  I  am  not  likely  to  meet  him  again — 
unless  as  an  occasional  partner  in  the  ball-room.' 

It  was  not  so,  however,  for  I  met  him  again  next  morn- 
ing. He  came  to  call  upon  my  uncle,  apologising  for  not 
having  done  so  before,  by  saying  he  was  only  lately  returned 
from  the  Continent,  and  had  not  heard,  till  the  previous 
night,  of  my  uncle's  arrival  in  town  ;  and  after  that  I  often 
met  him  ;  sometimes  in  public,  sometimes  at  home  ;  for  he 
was  very  assiduous  in  paying  his  respects  to  his  old  friend, 
who  did  not,  however,  consider  himself  greatly  obliged  by 
the  attention. 

'  I  wonder  what  the  deuce  the  lad  means  by  coming  so 
often,'  he  would  say, — '  can  you  tell,  Helen  ? — Hey  ?  He 
wants  none  o'  my  company,  nor  I  his — that's  certain.' 

'  I  wish  you'd  tell  him  so,  then,'  said  my  aunt. 

'  Why,  what  for  ?  If  I  don't  want  him,  somebody  does, 
mayhap '  (winking  at  me).  '  Besides,  he 's  a  pretty  tidy 
fortune,  Peggy,  you  know — not  such  a  catch  as  Wilmot ;  but 
then  Helen  won't  hear  of  that  match  :  for,  somehow,  these 
old  chaps  don't  go  down  with  the  girls — with  all  their 
money,  and  their  experience  to  boot.  I'll  bet  anything  she'd 
rather  have  this  young  fellow  without  a  penny,  than  Wilmot 
with  his  house  full  off  gold.  Wouldn't  you,  Nell  ? ' 

'  Yes,  uncle  ;  but  that's  not  saying  much  for  Mr.  Hunt- 
ingdon ;  for  I'd  rather  be  an  old  maid  and  a  pauper  than 
Mrs.  Wilmot.' 

'  And  Mrs.  Huntingdon  ?  What  would  you  rather  be 
than  Mrs.  Huntingdon — eh  ?  ' 

'  I'll  tell  you  when  I've  considered  the  matter.' 

1  Ah  !  it  needs  consideration,  then  ?     But  come,  now — 


WILDFELL  HALL  137 

would    you    rather    be    an    old     maid  —  let    alone    the 
pauper  ? ' 

'  I  can't  tell  till  I'm  asked.' 

And  I  left  the  room  immediately,  to  escape  further  ex- 
amination. But  five  minutes  after,  in  looking  from  my 
window,  I  beheld  Mr.  Boarham  coming  up  to  the  door.  I 
waited  nearly  half-an-hour  in  uncomfortable  suspense,  ex- 
pecting every  minute  to  be  called,  and  vainly  longing  to  hear 
him  go.  Then  footsteps  were  heard  on  the  stairs,  and  my 
aunt  entered  the  room  with  a  solemn  countenance,  and 
closed  the  door  behind  her. 

'  Here  is  Mr.  Boarham,  Helen,'  said  she.  '  He  wishes  to 
see  you.' 

'  Oh,  aunt !  Can't  you  tell  him  I'm  indisposed  ? — I'm 
sure  I  am — to  see  him.' 

'  Nonsense,  my  dear  !  this  is  no  trifling  matter.  He  is 
come  on  a  very  important  errand — to  ask  your  hand  in 
marriage  of  your  uncle  and  me.' 

'  I  hope  my  uncle  and  you  told  him  it  was  not  in  your 
power  to  give  it.  What  right  had  he  to  ask  any  one  before 
me?' 

'  Helen ! ' 

'  What  did  my  uncle  say  ?  ' 

'  He  said  he  would  not  interfere  in  the  matter ;  if  you 

liked  to  accept  Mr.  Boarham's  obliging  offer,  you ' 

'  Did  he  say  obliging  offer  ?  ' 

'  No  ;  he  said  if  you  liked  to  take  him  you  might  ;  and  if 
not,  you  might  please  yourself.' 

'  He  said  right ;  and  what  did  you  say  ?  ' 
'  It  is  no  matter  what  I  said.     What  will  you  say  ? — that 
is  the  question.     He  is  now  waiting  to  ask  you  himself ;  but 
consider  well  before  you  go ;  and  if  you  intend  to  refuse  him. 
give  me  your  reasons.' 

'  I  shall  refuse  him,  of  course ;  but  you  must  tell  me 
how,  for  I  want  to  be  civil  and  yet  decided — and  when  I've 
got  rid  of  him,  I'll  give  you  my  reasons  afterwards.' 

'  But  stay,  Helen  ;  sit  down  a  little  and  compose  yourself. 


138  THE  TENANT  OF 

Mr.  Boarham  is  in  no  particular  hurry,  for  he  has  little 
doubt  of  your  acceptance ;  and  I  want  to  speak  with  you. 
Tell  me,  my  dear,  what  are  your  objections  to  him  ?  Do 
you  deny  that  he  is  an  upright,  honourable  man  ? ' 

'No.' 

'  Do  you  deny  that  he  is  sensible,  sober,  respectable  ?  ' 

'  No  ;  he  may  be  all  this,  but — 

'  But,  Helen !  How  many  such  men  do  you  expect 
to  meet  with  in  the  world  ?  Upright,  honourable,  sensible, 
sober,  respectable  !  Is  this  such  an  every-day  character  that 
you  should  reject  the  possessor  of  such  noble  qualities  with- 
out a  moment's  hesitation  ?  Yes,  noble  I  may  call  them ; 
for  think  of  the  full  meaning  of  each,  and  how  many  ines- 
timable virtues  they  include  (and  I  might  add  many  more  to 
the  list),  and  consider  that  all  this  is  laid  at  your  feet. 
It  is  in  your  power  to  secure  this  inestimable  blessing  for 
life — a  worthy  and  excellent  husband,  who  loves  you 
tenderly,  but  not  too  fondly  so  as  to  blind  him  to  your 
faults,  and  will  be  your  guide  throughout  life's  pilgrimage, 
and  your  partner  in  eternal  bliss.  Think  how ' 

1  But  I  hate  him,  aunt,'  said  I,  interrupting  this  unusual 
flow  of  eloquence. 

'  Hate  him,  Helen  !  Is  this  a  Christian  spirit  ? — you 
hate  him  ?  and  he  so  good  a  man  ! ' 

'  I  don't  hate  him  as  a  man,  but  as  a  husband.  As  a 
man,  I  love  him  so  much  that  I  wish  him  a  better  wife  than 
I — one  as  good  as  himself,  or  better — if  you  think  that 
possible — provided  she  could  like  him ;  but  I  never  could, 
and  therefore — 

'  But  why  not  ?     What  objection  do  you  find  ? ' 

'  Firstly,  he  is  at  least  forty  years  old — considerably 
more,  I  should  think — and  I  am  but  eighteen ;  secondly,  he 
is  narrow-minded  and  bigoted  in  the  extreme ;  thirdly,  his 
tastes  and  feelings  are  wholly  dissimilar  to  mine ;  fourthly 
his  looks,  voice,  and  manner  are  particularly  displeasing  to 
me ;  and,  finally,  I  have  an  aversion  to  his  whole  person  that 
I  never  can  surmount.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  139 

'  Then  you  ought  to  surmount  it.  And  please  to  compare 
him  for  a  moment  with  Mr.  Huntingdon,  and,  good  looks 
apart  (which  contribute  nothing  to  the  merit  of  the  man,  or 
to  the  happiness  of  married  life,  and  which  you  have  so 
often  professed  to  hold  in  light  esteem),  tell  me  which  is  the 
better  man.' 

'  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Huntingdon  is  a  much  better  man 
than  you  think  him ;  but  we  are  not  talking  about  him  now, 
but  about  Mr.  Boarham  ;  and  as  I  would  rather  grow,  live, 
and  die  in  single  blessedness  than  be  his  wife,  it  is  but  right 
that  I  should  tell  him  so  at  once,  and  put  him  out  of 
suspense — so  let  me  go.' 

'  But  don't  give  him  a  flat  denial ;  he  has  no  idea  of  such 
a  thing,  and  it  would  offend  him  greatly :  say  you  have  no 

thoughts  of  matrimony  at  present ' 

'  But  I  have  thoughts  of  it.' 
'  Or  that  you  desire  a  further  acquaintance.' 
'  But  I   don't  desire   a  further  acquaintance — quite  the 
contrary.' 

And  without  waiting  for  further  admonitions  I  left  the 
room  and  went  to  seek  Mr.  Boarham.  He  was  walking  up 
and  down  the  drawing-room,  humming  snatches  of  tunes  and 
nibbling  the  end  of  his  cane. 

'  My  dear  young  lady,'  said  he,  bowing  and  smirking 
with  great  complacency,  '  I  have  your  kind  guardian's  per- 
mission  ' 

1 1  know,  sir,'  said  I,  wishing  to  shorten  the  scene  as  much 
as  possible,  '  and  I  am  greatly  obliged  for  your  preference, 
but  must  beg  to  decline  the  honour  you  wish  to  confer, 
for  I  think  we  were  not  made  for  each  other,  as  you 
yourself  would  shortly  discover  if  the  experiment  were 
tried.' 

My  aunt  was  right.  It  was  quite  evident  he  had  had 
little  doubt  of  my  acceptance,  and  no  idea  of  a  positive  denial. 
He  was  amazed,  astounded  at  such  an  answer,  but  too 
incredulous  to  be  much  offended ;  and  after  a  little  humming 
and  hawing,  he  returned  to  the  attack. 


140  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  I  know,  my  dear,  that  there  exists  a  considerable  disparity 
between  us  in  years,  in  temperament,  and  perhaps  some 
other  things  ;  but  let  me  assure  you,  I  shall  not  be  severe  to 
mark  the  faults  and  foibles  of  a  young  and  ardent  nature 
such  as  yours,  and  while  I  acknowledge  them  to  myself,  and 
even  rebuke  them  with  all  a  father's  care,  believe  me,  no 
youthful  lover  could  be  more  tenderly  indulgent  towards  the 
object  of  his  affections  than  I  to  you ;  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
let  me  hope  that  my  more  experienced  years  and  graver 
habits  of  reflection  will  be  no  disparagement  in  your  eyes, 
as  I  shall  endeavour  to  make  them  all  conducive  to  your 
happiness.  Come,  now  !  What  do  you  say  ?  Let  us  have 
no  young  lady's  affectations  and  caprices,  but  speak  out  at 
once.' 

'  I  will,  but  only  to  repeat  what  I  said  before,  that  I  am 
certain  we  were  not  made  for  each  other.' 

'  You  really  think  so  ?  ' 

'  I  do.' 

'  But  you  don't  know  me — you  wish  for  a  further  acquaint- 
ance— a  longer  time  to ' 

'  No,  I  don't.  I  know  you  as  well  as  I  ever  shall,  and 
better  than  you  know  me,  or  you  would  never  dream  of  uniting 
yourself  to  one  so  incongruous — so  utterly  unsuitable  to  you 
in  every  way.' 

'  But,  my  dear  young  lady,  I  don't  look  for  perfection  ;  I 
can  excuse ' 

'  Thank  you,  Mr.  Boarham,  but  I  won't  trespass  upon 
your  goodness.  You  may  save  your  indulgence  and 
consideration  for  some  more  worthy  object,  that  won't  tax 
them  so  heavily.' 

'  But  let  me  beg  you  to  consult  your  aunt ;  that  excellent 
lady,  I  am  sure,  will — 

1 1  have  consulted  her ;  and  I  know  her  wishes  coincide 
with  yours  ;  but  in  such  important  matters,  I  take  the  liberty 
of  judging  for  myself ;  and  no  persuasion  can  alter  my 
inclinations,  or  induce  me  to  believe  that  such  a  step  would 
be  conducive  to  my  happiness  or  yours — and  I  wonder  that 


WILDFELL  HALL  141 

a  man  of  your  experience  and  discretion  should  think  of 
choosing  such  a  wife.' 

'  Ah,  well ! '  said  he,  '  I  have  sometimes  wondered  at  that 
myself.  I  have  sometimes  said  to  myself,  "  Now,  Boarham, 
what  is  this  you're  after  ?  Take  care,  man — look  before  you 
leap  !  This  is  a  sweet,  bewitching  creature,  but  remember, 
the  brightest  attractions  to  the  lover  too  often  prove  the 
husband's  greatest  torments  !  "  I  assure  you  my  choice  has 
not  been  made  without  much  reasoning  and  reflection.  The 
seeming  imprudence  of  the  match  has  cost  me  many  an 
anxious  thought  by  day,  and  many  a  sleepless  hour  by  night ; 
but  at  length  I  satisfied  myself  that  it  was  not,  in  very  deed, 
imprudent.  I  saw  my  sweet  girl  was  not  without  her  faults, 
but  of  these  her  youth,  I  trusted,  was  not  one,  but  rather 
an  earnest  of  virtues  yet  unblown — a  strong  ground  of 
presumption  that  her  little  defects  of  temper  and  errors  of 
judgment,  opinion,  or  manner  were  not  irremediable,  but 
might  easily  be  removed  or  mitigated  by  the  patient  efforts  of 
a  watchful  and  judicious  adviser,  and  where  I  failed  to 
enlighten  and  control,  I  thought  I  might  safely  undertake 
to  pardon,  for  the  sake  of  her  many  excellences.  Therefore, 
my  dearest  girl,  since  I  am  satisfied,  why  should  you  object — 
on  my  account,  at  least  ?  ' 

'  But  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Boarham,  it  is  on  my 
own  account  I  principally  object ;  so  let  us — drop  the  subject,' 
I  would  have  said,  '  for  it  is  worse  than  useless  to  pursue  it 
any  further,'  but  he  pertinaciously  interrupted  me  with, — 
'  But  why  so  ?  I  would  love  you,  cherish  you,  protect  you,' 
&c.,  &c. 

I  shall  not  trouble  myself  to  put  down  all  that  passed 
between  us.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  I  found  him  very  trouble- 
some, and  very  hard  to  convince  that  I  really  meant  what  I 
said,  and  really  was  so  obstinate  and  blind  to  my  own  interests, 
that  there  was  no  shadow  of  a  chance  that  either  he  or  my 
aunt  would  ever  be  able  to  overcome  my  objections.  Indeed, 
I  am  not  sure  that  I  succeeded  after  all ;  though  wearied 
with  his  so  pertinaciously  returning  to  the  same  point  and 


142  THE   TENANT  OP 

repeating  the  same  arguments  over  and  over  again,  forcing 
me  to  reiterate  the  same  replies,  I  at  length  turned  short  and 
sharp  upon  him,  and  my  last  words  were, — '  I  tell  you  plainly, 
that  it  cannot  be.  No  consideration  can  induce  me  to  marry 
against  my  inclinations.  I  respect  you — at  least,  I  would 
respect  you,  if  you  would  behave  like  a  sensible  man — but  I 
cannot  love  you,  and  never  could — and  the  more  you  talk 
the  further  you  repel  me  ;  so  pray  don't  say  any  more 
about  it.' 

Whereupon  he  wished  me  a  good-morning,  and  withdrew, 
disconcerted  and  offended,  no  doubt ;  but  surely  it  was  not 
my  fault. 


CHAPTEE  XVII 

THE  next  day  I  accompanied  my  uncle  and  aunt  to  a  dinner- 
party at  Mr.  Wilmot's.  He  had  two  ladies  staying  with  him  : 
his  niece  Annabella,  a  fine  dashing  girl,  or  rather  young 
woman,  of  some  five-and-twenty,  too  great  a  flirt  to  be 
married,  according  to  her  own  assertion,  but  greatly  admired 
by  the  gentlemen,  who  universally  pronounced  her  a  splendid 
woman ;  and  her  gentle  cousin,  Milicent  Hargrave,  who  had 
taken  a  violent  fancy  to  me,  mistaking  me  for  something 
vastly  better  than  I  was.  And  I,  in  return,  was  very  fond 
of  her.  I  should  entirely  exclude  poor  Milicent  in  my 
general  animadversions  against  the  ladies  of  my  acquaintance. 
But  it  was  not  on  her  account,  or  her  cousin's,  that  I  have 
mentioned  the  party :  it  was  for  the  sake  of  another  of  Mr. 
Wilmot's  guests,  to  wit  Mr.  Huntingdon.  I  have  good 
reason  to  remember  his  presence  there,  for  this  was  the  last 
time  I  saw  him. 

He  did  not  sit  near  me  at  dinner  ;  for  it  was  his  fate  to 
hand  in  a  capacious  old  dowager,  and  mine  to  be  handed  in 
by  Mr.  Grimsby,  a  friend  of  his,  but  a  man  I  very  greatly 
disliked :  there  was  a  sinister  cast  in  his  countenance,  and  a 
mixture  of  lurking  ferocity  and  fulsome  insincerity  in  his 
demeanour,  that  I  could  not  away  with.  What  a  tiresome 
custom  that  is,  by-the-by — one  among  the  many  sources  of 
factitious  annoyance  of  this  ultra-civilised  life.  If  the 
gentlemen  must  lead  the  ladies  into  the  dining-room,  why 
cannot  they  take  those  they  like  best  ? 

I  am  not  sure,  however,  that  Mr.  Huntingdon  would  have 


144  THE   TENANT   OF 

taken  me,  if  he  had  been  at  liberty  to  make  his  own  selection. 
It  is  quite  possible  he  might  have  chosen  Miss  Wilmot ;  for 
she  seemed  bent  upon  engrossing  his  attention  to  herself,  and 
he  seemed  nothing  loth  to  pay  the  homage  she  demanded.  I 
thought  so,  at  least,  when  I  saw  how  they  talked  and  laughed, 
and  glanced  across  the  table,  to  the  neglect  and  evident  um- 
brage of  their  respective  neighbours — and  afterwards,  as  the 
gentlemen  joined  us  in  the  drawing-room,  when  she,  imme- 
dately  upon  his  entrance,  loudly  called  upon  him  to  be  the 
arbiter  of  a  dispute  between  herself  and  another  lady,  and  he 
answered  the  summons  with  alacrity,  and  decided  the  ques- 
tion without  a  moment's  hesitation  in  her  favour — though,  to 
my  thinking,  she  was  obviously  in  the  wrong — and  then 
stood  chatting  familiarly  with  her  and  a  group  of  other  ladies  ; 
while  I  sat  with  Milicent  Hargrave  at  the  opposite  end  of 
the  room,  looking  over  the  latter's  drawings,  and  aiding  her 
with  my  critical  observations  and  advice,  at  her  particular 
desire.  But  in  spite  of  my  efforts  to  remain  composed,  my 
attention  wandered  from  the  drawings  to  the  merry  group, 
and  against  my  better  judgment  my  wrath  rose,  and  doubtless 
my  countenance  lowered ;  for  Milicent,  observing  that  I  must 
be  tired  of  her  daubs  and  scratches,  begged  I  would  join 
the  company  now,  and  defer  the  examination  of  the  remainder 
to  another  opportunity.  But  while  I  was  assuring  her  that 
I  had  no  wish  to  join  them,  and  was  not  tired,  Mr.  Hunting- 
don himself  came  up  to  the  little  round  table  at  which  we 
sat. 

'  Are  these  yours  ?  '  said  he,  carelessly  taking  up  one  of 
the  drawings. 

'  No,  they  are  Miss  Hargrave's.' 

'  Oh  !  well,  let's  have  a  look  at  them.' 

And,  regardless  of  Miss  Hargrave's  protestations  that 
they  were  not  worth  looking  at,  he  drew  a  chair  to  my  side, 
and  receiving  the  drawings,  one  by  one  from  my  hand,  suc- 
cessively scanned  them  over,  and  threw  them  on  the  table,  but 
said  not  a  word  about  them,  though  he  was  talking  all  the 
time.  I  don't  know  what  Milicent  Hargrave  thought  of  such 


WILDFELL  HALL  145 

conduct,  but  I  found  his  conversation  extremely  interesting ; 
though,  as  I  afterwards  discovered,  when  I  came  to  analyse 
it,  it  was  chiefly  confined  to  quizzing  the  different  members 
of  the  company  present ;  and  albeit  he  made  some  clever  re- 
marks, and  some  excessively  droll  ones,  I  do  not  think  the 
whole  would  appear  anything  very  particular,  if  written  here, 
without  the  adventitious  aids  of  look,  and  tone,  and  gesture, 
and  that  ineffable  but  indefinite  charm,  which  cast  a  halo 
over  all  he  did  and  said,  and  which  would  have  made  it  a 
delight  to  look  in  his  face,  and  hear  the  music  of  his  voice,  if 
he  had  been  talking  positive  nonsense — and  which,  moreover, 
made  me  feel  so  bitter  against  my  aunt  when  she  put  a  stop 
to  this  enjoyment,  by  coming  composedly  forward,  under 
pretence  of  wishing  to  see  the  drawings,  that  she  cared  and 
knew  nothing  about,  and  while  making  believe  to  examine 
them,  addressing  herself  to  Mr.  Huntingdon,  with  one  of  her 
coldest  and  most  repellent  aspects,  and  beginning  a  series  of 
the  most  common-place  and  formidably  formal  questions  and 
observations,  on  purpose  to  wrest  his  attention  from  me — on 
purpose  to  vex  me,  as  I  thought :  and  having  now  looked 
through  the  portfolio,  I  left  them  to  their  t&te-A-t&te,  and 
seated  myself  on  a  sofa,  quite  apart  from  the  company — 
never  thinking  how  strange  such  conduct  would  appear,  but 
merely  to  indulge,  at  first,  the  vexation  of  the  moment,  and 
subsequently  to  enjoy  my  private  thoughts. 

"But  I  was  not  left  long  alone,  for  Mr.  Wilmot,  of  all  men 
the  least  welcome,  took  advantage  of  my  isolated  position  to 
come  and  plant  himself  beside  me.  I  had  flattered  myself 
that  I  had  so  effectually  repulsed  his  advances  on  all  former 
occasions,  that  I  had  nothing  more  to  apprehend  from  his 
unfortunate  predilection ;  but  it  seems  I  was  mistaken  :  so 
great  was  his  confidence,  either  in  his  wealth  or  his  remaining 
powers  of  attraction,  and  so  firm  his  conviction  of  feminine 
weakness,  that  he  thought  himself  warranted  to  return  to  the 
siege,  which  he  did  with  renovated  ardour,  enkindled  by  the 
quantity  of  wine  he  had  drunk — a  circumstance  that  rendered 
him  infinitely  the  more  disgusting ;  but  greatly  as  I  abhorred 


146  THE  TENANT  OF 

him  at  that  moment,  I  did  not  like  to  treat  him  with  rude- 
ness, as  I  was  now  his  guest,  and  had  just  been  enjoying  his 
hospitality  ;  and  I  was  no  hand  at  a  polite  but  determined 
rejection,  nor  would  it  have  greatly  availed  me  if  I  had,  for 
he  was  too  coarse-minded  to  take  any  repulse  that  was  not 
as  plain  and  positive  as  his  own  effrontery.  The  consequence 
was,  that  he  waxed  more  fulsomely  tender,  and  more  repul- 
sively warm,  and  I  was  driven  to  the  very  verge  of  desperation, 
and  about  to  say  I  know  not  what,  when  I  felt  my  hand, 
that  hung  over  the  arm  of  the  sofa,  suddenly  taken  by 
another  and  gently  but  fervently  pressed.  Instinctively,  I 
guessed  who  it  was,  and,  on  looking  up,  was  less  surprised 
than  delighted  to  see  Mr.  Huntingdon  smiling  upon  me.  It 
was  like  turning  from  some  purgatorial  fiend  to  an  angel 
of  light,  come  to  announce  that  the  season  of  torment  was 
past. 

'  Helen/  said  he  (he  frequently  called  me  Helen,  and  I 
never  resented  the  freedom),  '  I  want  you  to  look  at  this 
picture :  Mr.  Wilmot  will  excuse  you  a  moment,  I'm  sure.' 

I  rose  with  alacrity.  He  drew  my  arm  within  his,  and 
led  me  across  the  room  to  a  splendid  painting  of  Vandyke's 
that  I  had  noticed  before,  but  not  sufficiently  examined. 
After  a  moment  of  silent  contemplation,  I  was  beginning  to 
comment  on  its  beauties  and  peculiarities,  when,  playfully 
pressing  the  hand  he  still  retained  within  his  arm,  he  inter- 
rupted me  with, — '  Never  mind  the  picture  :  it  was  not  for 
that  I  brought  you  here ;  it  was  to  get  you  away  from  that 
scoundrelly  old  profligate  yonder,  who  is  looking  as  if  he 
would  like  to  challenge  me  for  the  affront.' 

'  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,'  said  I.  '  This  is  twice 
you  have  delivered  me  from  such  unpleasant  companionship." 

'  Don't  be  too  thankful,'  he  answered  :  '  it  is  not  all  kind- 
ness to  you ;  it  is  partly  from  a  feeling  of  spite  to  your  tor- 
mentors that  makes  me  delighted  to  do  the  old  fellows  a  bad 
turn,  though  I  don't  think  I  have  any  great  reason  to  dread 
them  as  rivals.  Have  I,  Helen  ? ' 

'  You  know  I  detest  them  both.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  147 

'  And  me  ?  ' 

'  I  have  no  reason  to  detest  you.' 

'  But  what  are  your  sentiments  towards  me  ?  Helen — 
Speak !  How  do  you  regard  me  ? ' 

And  again  he  pressed  my  hand  ;  but  I  feared  there  was 
more  of  conscious  power  than  tenderness  in  his  demeanour, 
and  I  felt  he  had  no  right  to  extort  a  confession  of  attachment 
from  me  when  he  had  made  no  correspondent  avowal  him- 
self, and  knew  not  what  to  answer.  At  last  I  said, — '  How 
do  you  regard  me  ?  ' 

'  Sweet  angel,  I  adore  you !     I ' 

'  Helen,  I  want  you  a  moment,'  said  the  distinct,  low 
voice  of  my  aunt,  close  beside  us.  And  I  left  him,  muttering 
maledictions  against  his  evil  angel. 

'  Well,  aunt,  what  is  it  ?  What  do  you  want  ?  '  said  I, 
following  her  to  the  embrasure  of  the  window. 

'  I  want  you  to  join  the  company,  when  you  are  fit  to  be 
seen,'  returned  she,  severely  regarding  me ;  '  but  please  to 
stay  here  a  little,  till  that  shocking  colour  is  somewhat 
abated,  and  your  eyes  have  recovered  something  of  their 
natural  expression.  I  should  be  ashamed  for  anyone  to  see 
you  in  your  present  state.' 

Of  course,  such  a  remark  had  no  effect  in  reducing  the 
'  shocking  colour ' ;  on  the  contrary,  I  felt  my  face  glow 
with  redoubled  fires  kindled  by  a  complication  of  emotions, 
of  which  indignant,  swelling  anger  was  the  chief.  I  offered 
no  reply,  however,  but  pushed  aside  the  curtain  and  looked 
into  the  night — or  rather  into  the  lamp-lit  square. 

'  Was  Mr.  Huntingdon  proposing  to  you,  Helen  ? '  in- 
quired my  too  watchful  relative. 

'No.' 

'  What  was  he  saying  then  ?  I  heard  something  very 
like  it.' 

'  I  don't  know  what  he  would  have  said,  if  you  hadn't 
interrupted  him.' 

'  And  would  you  have  accepted  him,  Helen,  if  he  had 
proposed  ? ' 


148  THE   TENANT   OF 

'  Of  course  not — without  consulting  uncle  and  you.' 

'  Oh !  I'm  glad,  my  dear,  you  have  so  much  prudence  left. 
Well,  now,'  she  added,  after  a  moment's  pause,  '  you  have 
made  yourself  conspicuous  enough  for  one  evening.  The 
ladies  are  directing  inquiring  glances  towards  us  at  this 
moment,  I  see  :  I  shall  join  them.  Do  you  come  too,  when 
you  are  sufficiently  composed  to  appear  as  usual.' 

'  I  am  so  now.' 

'  Speak  gently  then,  and  don't  look  so  malicious,'  said  my 
calm,  but  provoking  aunt.  '  We  shall  return  home  shortly, 
and  then,'  she  added  with  solemn  significance,  '  I  have  much 
to  say  to  you.' 

So  I  went  home  prepared  for  a  formidable  lecture.  Little 
was  said  by  either  party  in  the  carriage  during  our  short 
transit  homewards ;  but  when  I  had  entered  my  room  and 
thrown  myself  into  an  easy-chair,  to  reflect  on  the  events  of 
the  day,  my  aunt  followed  me  thither,  and  having  dismissed 
Kachel,  who  was  carefully  stowing  away  my  ornaments, 
closed  the  door ;  and  placing  a  chair  beside  me,  or  rather  at 
right  angles  with  mine,  sat  down.  With  due  deference  I 
offered  her  my  more  commodious  seat.  She  declined  it, 
and  thus  opened  the  conference  :  '  Do  you  remember, 
Helen,  our  conversation  the  night  but  one  before  we  left 
Staningley  ? ' 

'  Yes,  aunt.' 

'  And  do  you  remember  how  I  warned  you  against  letting 
your  heart  be  stolen  from  you  by  those  unworthy  of  its 
possession,  and  fixing  your  affections  where  approbation  did 
not  go  before,  and  where  reason  and  judgment  withheld  their 
sanction  ? ' 

'  Yes  ;  but  my  reason — 

'Pardon  me — and  do  you  remember  assuring  me  that 
there  was  no  occasion  for  uneasiness  on  your  account ;  for 
you  should  never  be  tempted  to  marry  a  man  who  was 
deficient  in  sense  or  principle,  however  handsome  or  charm- 
ing in  other  respects  he  might  be,  for  you  could  not  love  him  ; 
you  should  hate — despise — pity — anything  but  love  him — 
were  not  those  your  words  ?  ' 


WILDFELL  HALL  149 

but ' 

'And  did  you  not  say  that  your  affection  must  be 
founded  on  approbation  ;  and  that,  unless  you  could  approve 
and  honour  and  respect,  you  could  not  love  ? ' 

c  Yes ;  but  I  do  approve,  and  honour,  and  respect ' 

'  How  so,  my  dear  ?     Is  Mr.  Huntingdon  a  good  man  ? ' 
'  He  is  a  much  better  man  than  you  think  him.' 
'  That  is  nothing  to  the  purpose.     Is  he  a  good  man  ? ' 
'  Yes — in  some  respects.     He  has  a  good  disposition.' 
'  Is  he  a  man  of  principle  ?  ' 

'  Perhaps  not,  exactly  ;  but  it  is  only  for  want  of  thought. 
If  he  had  some  one  to  advise  him,  and  remind  him  of  what 

is  right ' 

'  He  would  soon  learn,  you  think — and  you  yourself 
would  willingly  undertake  to  be  his  teacher  ?  But,  my 
dear,  he  is,  I  believe,  full  ten  years  older  than  you — how  is 
it  that  you  are  so  beforehand  in  moral  acquirements  ?  ' 

'  Thanks  to  you,  aunt,  I  have  been  well  brought  up,  and 
had  good  examples  always  before  me,  which  he,  most  likely, 
has  not  ;  and,  besides,  he  is  of  a  sanguine  temperament,  and 
a  gay,  thoughtless  temper,  and  I  am  naturally  inclined  to 
reflection.' 

'  Well,  now  you  have  made  him  out  to  be  deficient  in 

both  sense  and  principle,  by  your  own  confession ' 

'  Then,  my  sense  and  my  principle  are  at  his  service.' 
'  That  sounds  presumptuous,  Helen.     Do  you  think  you 
have  enough  for  both  ;  and  do  you  imagine  your  merry, 
thoughtless  profligate  would  allow  himself  to  be  guided  by  a 
young  girl  like  you  ?  ' 

'  No ;  I  should  not  wish  to  guide  him ;  but  I  think  I 
might  have  influence  sufficient  to  save  him  from  some 
errors,  and  I  should  think  my  life  well  spent  in  the  effort  to 
preserve  so  noble  a  nature  from  destruction.  He  always 
listens  attentively  now  when  I  speak  seriously  to  him  (and  I 
often  venture  to  reprove  his  random  way  of  talking),  and 
sometimes  he  says  that  if  he  had  me  always  by  his  side  he 
should  never  do  or  say  a  wicked  thing,  and  that  a  little 


150  THE  TENANT  OF 

daily  talk  with  me  would  make  him  quite  a  saint.     It  may 
be  partly  jest  and  partly  flattery,  but  still ' 

'  But  still  you  think  it  may  be  truth  ? ' 

1  If  I  do  think  there  is  any  mixture  of  truth  in  it,  it  is  not 
from  confidence  in  my  own  powers,  but  in  his  natural  good- 
ness. And  you  have  no  right  to  call  him  a  profligate,  aunt ; 
he  is  nothing  of  the  kind.' 

'  Who  told  you  so,  my  dear  ?  What  was  that  story  about 
his  intrigue  with  a  married  lady — Lady  who  was  it  ? — Miss 
Wilmot  herself  was  telling  you  the  other  day  ? ' 

1  It  was  false — false  ! '  I  cried.  '  I  don't  believe  a  word 
of  it.' 

'You  think,  then,  that  he  is  a  virtuous,  well-conducted 
young  man  ? ' 

'  I  know  nothing  positive  respecting  his  character.  I 
only  know  that  I  have  heard  nothing  definite  against  it — 
nothing  that  could  be  proved,  at  least ;  and  till  people  can 
prove  their  slanderous  accusations,  I  will  not  believe  them. 
And  I  know  this,  that  if  he  has  committed  errors,  they  are 
only  such  as  are  common  to  youth,  and  such  as  nobody 
thinks  anything  about ;  for  I  see  that  everybody  likes  him, 
and  all  the  mammas  smile  upon  him,  and  their  daughters 
—and  Miss  Wilmot  herself — are  only  too  glad  to  attract  his 
attention.' 

'  Helen,  the  world  may  look  upon  such  offences  as  venial ; 
a  few  unprincipled  mothers  may  be  anxious  to  catch  a  young 
man  of  fortune  without  reference  to  his  character;  and 
thoughtless  girls  may  be  glad  to  win  the  smiles  of  so  hand- 
some a  gentleman,  without  seeking  to  penetrate  beyond  the 
surface ;  but  you,  I  trusted,  were  better  informed  than 
to  see  with  their  eyes,  and  judge  with  their  perverted 
judgment.  I  did  not  think  you  would  call  these  venial 
errors ! ' 

'  Nor  do  I,  aunt ;  but  if  I  hate  the  sins,  I  love  the  sinner, 
and  would  do  much  for  his  salvation,  even  supposing  your 
suspicions  to  be  mainly  true,  which  I  do  not  and  will  not 
believe.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  151 

1  Well,  my  dear,  ask  your  uncle  what  sort  of  company  he 
keeps,  and  if  he  is  not  banded  with  a  set  of  loose,  profligate 
young  men,  whom  he  calls  his  friends,  his  jolly  companions, 
and  whose  chief  delight  is  to  wallow  in  vice,  and  vie  with 
each  other  who  can  run  fastest  and  furthest  down  the 
headlong  road  to  the  place  prepared  for  the  devil  and  his 
angels.' 

1  Then  I  will  save  him  from  them.' 

'  Oh,  Helen,  Helen  !  you  little  know  the  misery  of  unit- 
ing your  fortunes  to  such  a  man  ! ' 

'  I  have  such  confidence  in  him,  aunt,  notwithstanding 
all  you  say,  that  I  would  willingly  risk  my  happiness  for 
the  chance  of  securing  his.  I  will  leave  better  men  to  those 
who  only  consider  their  own  advantage.  If  he  has  done 
amiss,  I  shall  consider  my  life  well  spent  in  saving  him 
from  the  consequences  of  his  early  errors,  and  striving 
to  recall  him  to  the  path  of  virtue.  God  grant  me  success  ! ' 

Here  the  conversation  ended,  for  at  this  juncture  my 
uncle's  voice  was  heard  from  his  chamber,  loudly  calling 
upon  my  aunt  to  come  to  bed.  He  was  in  a  bad  humour 
that  night ;  for  his  gout  was  worse.  It  had  been  gradually 
increasing  upon  him  ever  since  we  came  to  town  ;  and  my 
aunt  took  advantage  of  the  circumstance  next  morning  to 
persuade  him  to  return  to  the  country  immediately,  without 
waiting  for  the  close  of  the  season.  His  physician  supported 
and  enforced  her  arguments ;  and  contrary  to  her  usual 
habits,  she  so  hurried  the  preparations  for  removal  (as  much 
for  my  sake  as  my  uncle's,  I  think),  that  in  a  very  few  days 
we  departed  ;  and  I  saw  no  more  of  Mr.  Huntingdon.  My 
aunt  flatters  herself  I  shall  soon  forget  him — perhaps  she 
thinks  I  have  forgotten  him  already,  for  I  never  mention  his 
name  ;  and  she  may  continue  to  think  so,  till  we  meet 
again — if  ever  that  should  be.  I  wonder  if  it  will  ? 


CHAPTEK  XVIII 

AUGUST  25TH. — I  am  now  quite  settled  down  to  my  usual 
routine  of  steady  occupations  and  quiet  amusements — 
tolerably  contented  and  cheerful,  but  still  looking  forward 
to  spring  with  the  hope  of  returning  to  town,  not  for  its 
gaieties  and  dissipations,  but  for  the  chance  of  meeting  Mr. 
Huntingdon  once  again  ;  for  still  he  is  always  in  my  thoughts 
and  in  my  dreams.  In  all  my  employments,  whatever  I  do, 
or  see,  or  hear,  has  an  ultimate  reference  to  him ;  whatever 
skill  or  knowledge  I  acquire  is  some  day  to  be  turned  to  his 
advantage  or  amusement ;  whatever  new  beauties  in  nature 
or  art  I  discover  are  to  be  depicted  to  meet  his  eye,  or  stored 
in  my  memory  to  be  told  him  at  some  future  period.  This, 
at  least,  is  the  hope  that  I  cherish,  the  fancy  that  lights  me 
on  my  lonely  way.  It  may  be  only  an  ignis  fatuus,  after  all, 
but  it  can  do  no  harm  to  follow  it  with  my  eyes  and  rejoice 
in  its  lustre,  as  long  as  it  does  not  lure  me  from  the  path  I 
ought  to  keep ;  and  I  think  it  will  not,  for  I  have  thought 
deeply  on  my  aunt's  advice,  and  I  see  clearly,  now,  the  folly 
of  throwing  myself  away  on  one  that  is  unworthy  of  all  the 
love  I  have  to  give,  and  incapable  of  responding  to  the  best 
and  deepest  feelings  of  my  inmost  heart — so  clearly,  that 
even  if  I  should  see  him  again,  and  if  he  should  remember 
me  and  love  me  still  (which,  alas !  is  too  little  probable, 
considering  how  he  is  situated,  and  by  whom  surrounded), 
and  if  he  should  ask  me  to  marry  him — I  am  determined  not 
to  consent  until  I  know  for  certain  whether  my  aunt's 
opinion  of  him  or  mine  is  nearest  the  truth ;  for  if  mine  is 
altogether  wrong,  it  is  not  he  that  I  love  ;  it  is  a  creature  of 


WILDFELL  HALL  153 

my  own  imagination.  But  I  think  it  is  not  wrong — no,  no — 
there  is  a  secret  something — an  inward  instinct  that  assures 
me  I  am  right.  There  is  essential  goodness  in  him ; — and 
what  delight  to  unfold  it !  If  he  has  wandered,  what  bliss  to 
recall  him  !  If  he  is  now  exposed  to  the  baneful  influence  of 
corrupting  and  wicked  companions,  what  glory  to  deliver  him 
from  them!  Oh!  if  I  could  but  believe  that  Heaven  has 
designed  me  for  this ! 


To-day  is  the  first  of  September ;  but  my  uncle  has 
ordered  the  gamekeeper  to  spare  the  partridges  till  the  gentle- 
men come.  '  What  gentlemen  ? '  I  asked  when  I  heard  it. 
A  small  party  he  had  invited  to  shoot.  His  friend  Mr. 
Wilmot  was  one,  and  my  aunt's  friend,  Mr.  Boarham, 
another.  This  struck  me  as  terrible  news  at  the  moment ; 
but  all  regret  and  apprehension  vanished  like  a  dream  when  I 
heard  that  Mr.  Huntingdon  was  actually  to  be  a  third  !  My 
aunt  is  greatly  against  his  coming,  of  course :  she  earnestly 
endeavoured  to  dissuade  my  uncle  from  asking  him  ;  but  he, 
laughing  at  her  objections,  told  her  it  was  no  use  talking,  for 
the  mischief  was  already  done  :  he  had  invited  Huntingdon 
and  his  friend  Lord  Lowborough  before  we  left  London,  and 
nothing  now  remained  but  to  fix  the  day  for  their  coming. 
So  he  is  safe,  and  I  am  sure  of  seeing  him.  I  cannot  express 
my  joy.  I  find  it  very  difficult  to  conceal  it  from  my  aunt ; 
but  I  don't  wish  to  trouble  her  with  my  feelings  till  I  know 
whether  I  ought  to  indulge  them  or  not.  If  I  find  it  my 
absolute  duty  to  suppress  them,  they  shall  trouble  no  one 
but  myself ;  and  if  I  can  really  feel  myself  justified  in 
indulging  this  attachment,  I  can  dare  anything,  even  the 
anger  and  grief  of  my  best  friend,  for  its  object — surely,  I 
shall  soon  know.  But  they  are  not  coming  till  about  the 
middle  of  the  month. 

We  are  to  have  two  lady  visitors  also  :  Mr.  WTilmot  is  to 
bring  his  niece  and  her  cousin  Milicent.  I  suppose  my  aunt 
thinks  the  latter  will  benefit  me  by  her  society,  and  the 


154  THE  TENANT  OF 

salutary  example  of  her  gentle  deportment  and  lowly  and 
tractable  spirit ;  and  the  former  I  suspect  she  intends  as  a 
species  of  counter-attraction  to  win  Mr.  Huntingdon's 
attention  from  me.  I  don't  thank  her  for  this  ;  but  I  shall 
be  glad  of  Milicent's  company :  she  is  a  sweet,  good  girl,  and 
I  wish  I  were  like  her — more  like  her,  at  least,  than  I  am. 


19th. — They  are  come.  They  came  the  day  before 
yesterday.  The  gentlemen  are  all  gone  out  to  shoot,  and  the 
ladies  are  with  my  aunt,  at  work  in  the  drawing-room.  I 
have  retired  to  the  library,  for  I  am  very  unhappy,  and  I 
want  to  be  alone.  Books  cannot  divert  me ;  so  having 
opened  my  desk,  I  will  try  what  may  be  done  by  detailing 
the  cause  of  my  uneasiness.  This  paper  will  serve  instead 
of  a  confidential  friend  into  whose  ear  I  might  pour  forth  the 
overflowings  of  my  heart.  It  will  not  sympathise  with  my 
distresses,  but  then  it  will  not  laugh  at  them,  and,  if  I  keep 
it  close,  it  cannot  tell  again ;  so  it  is,  perhaps,  the  best  friend 
I  could  have  for  the  purpose. 

First,  let  me  speak  of  his  arrival — how  I  sat  at  my 
window,  and  watched  for  nearly  two  hours,  before  his 
carriage  entered  the  park-gates — for  they  all  came  before 
him, — and  how  deeply  I  was  disappointed  at  every  arrival, 
because  it  was  not  his.  First  came  Mr.  Wilmot  and  the 
ladies.  When  Milicent  had  got  into  her  room,  I  quitted  my 
post  a  few  minutes  to  look  in  upon  her  and  have  a  little 
private  conversation,  for  she  was  now  my  intimate  friend, 
several  long  epistles  having  passed  between  us  since  our 
parting.  On  returning  to  my  window,  I  beheld  another 
carriage  at  the  door.  Was  it  his  ?  No ;  it  was  Mr. 
Boarham's  plain  dark  chariot ;  and  there  stood  he  upon  the 
steps,  carefully  superintending  the  dislodging  of  his  various 
boxes  and  packages.  What  a  collection  !  One  would  have 
thought  he  projected  a  visit  of  six  months  at  least.  A 
considerable  time  after,  came  Lord  Lowborough  in  his 
barouche.  Is  he  one  of  the  profligate  friends,  I  wonder  ?  I 


WILDFELL   HALL  155 

should  think  not ;  for  no  one  could  call  him  a  jolly  com- 
panion, I'm  sure, — and,  besides,  he  appears  too  sober  and 
gentlemanly  in  his  demeanour  to  merit  such  suspicions.  He 
is  a  tall,  thin,  gloomy -looking  man,  apparently  between 
thirty  and  forty,  and  of  a  somewhat  sickly,  careworn  aspect. 

At  last,  Mr.  Huntingdon's  light  phaeton  came  bowling 
merrily  up  the  lawn.  I  had  but  a  transient  glimpse  of  him  : 
for  the  moment  it  stopped,  he  sprang  out  over  the  side  on  to 
the  portico  steps,  and  disappeared  into  the  house. 

I  now  submitted  to  be  dressed  for  dinner — a  duty  which 
Rachel  had  been  urging  upon  me  for  the  last  twenty  minutes  ; 
and  when  that  important  business  was  completed,  I  repaired 
to  the  drawing-room,  where  I  found  Mr.  and  Miss  Wilmot 
and  Milicent  Hargrave  already  assembled.  Shortly  after, 
Lord  Lowborough  entered,  and  then  Mr.  Boarham,  who 
seemed  quite  willing  to  forget  and  forgive  my  former 
conduct,  and  to  hope  that  a  little  conciliation  and  steady 
perseverance  on  his  part  might  yet  succeed  in  bringing  me  to 
reason.  While  I  stood  at  the  window,  conversing  with 
Milicent,  he  came  up  to  me,  and  was  beginning  to  talk  in 
nearly  his  usual  strain,  when  Mr.  Huntingdon  entered 
the  room. 

'  How  will  he  greet  me,  I  wonder  ? '  said  my  bounding 
heart ;  and,  instead  of  advancing  to  meet  him,  I  turned  to 
the  window  to  hide  or  subdue  my  emotion.  But  having 
saluted  his  host  and  hostess,  and  the  rest  of  the  company, 
he  came  to  me,  ardently  squeezed  my  hand,  and  murmured 
he  was  glad  to  see  me  once  again.  At  that  moment  dinner 
was  announced :  my  aunt  desired  him  to  take  Miss  Har- 
grave into  the  dining-room,  and  odious  Mr,  Wilmot,  with 
unspeakable  grimaces,  offered  his  arm  to  me  ;  and  I  was 
condemned  to  sit  between  himself  and  Mr.  Boarham.  But 
afterwards,  when  we  were  all  again  assembled  in  the 
drawing-room,  I  was  indemnified  for  so  much  suffering 
by  a  few  delightful  minutes  of  conversation  with  Mr.  Hunt- 
ingdon. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,   Miss  Wilmot  was  called 


156  THE  TENANT  OF 

upon  to  sing  and  play  for  the  amusement  of  the  company, 
and  I  to  exhibit  my  drawings,  and,  though  he  likes  music, 
and  she  is  an  accomplished  musician,  I  think  I  am  right  in 
affirming,  that  he  paid  more  attention  to  my  drawings  than 
to  her  music. 

So  far  so  good  ; — but  hearing  him  pronounce,  sotto  voce, 
but  with  peculiar  emphasis,  concerning  one  of  the  pieces, 
'  This  is  better  than  all ! ' — I  looked  up,  curious  to  see  which 
it  was,  and,  to  my  horror,  beheld  him  complacently  gazing 
at  the  back  of  the  picture  : — it  was  his  own  face  that  I  had 
sketched  there  and  forgotten  to  rub  out  !  To  make  matters 
worse,  in  the  agony  of  the  moment,  I  attempted  to  snatch  it 
from  his  hand  ;  but  he  prevented  me,  and  exclaiming, '  No — 
by  George,  I'll  keep  it  ! '  placed  it  against  his  waistcoat  and 
buttoned  his  coat  upon  it  with  a  delighted  chuckle. 

Then,  drawing  a  candle  close  to  his  elbow,  he  gathered 
all  the  drawings  to  himself,  as  well  what  he  had  seen  as  the 
others,  and  muttering,  '  I  must  look  at  both  sides  now,'  he 
eagerly  commenced  an  examination,  which  I  watched,  at 
first,  with  tolerable  composure,  in  the  confidence  that  his 
vanity  would  not  be  gratified  by  any  further  discoveries  ;  fori 
though  I  must  plead  guilty  to  having  disfigured  the  backs  of 
several  with  abortive  attempts  to  delineate  that  too  fascinat- 
ing physiognomy,  I  was  sure  that,  with  that  one  unfortunate 
exception,  I  had  carefully  obliterated  all  such  witnesses  of 
my  infatuation.  But  the  pencil  frequently  leaves  an  im- 
pression upon  cardboard  that  no  amount  of  rubbing  can 
efface.  Such,  it  seems,  was  the  case  with  most  of  these ;  and, 
I  confess,  I  trembled  when  I  saw  him  holding  them  so 
close  to  the  candle,  and  poring  so  intently  over  the  seeming 
blanks ;  but  still,  I  trusted,  he  would  not  be  able  to  make 
out  these  dim  traces  to  his  own  satisfaction.  I  was  mis- 
taken, however.  Having  ended  his  scrutiny,  he  quietly  re- 
marked,— '  I  perceive  the  backs  of  young  ladies'  drawings, 
like  the  postscripts  of  their  letters,  are  the  most  important 
and  interesting  part  of  the  concern.' 

Then,   leaning  back  in   his   chair,   he   reflected   a,    few 


WILDFELL  HALL  157 

minutes  in  silence,  complacently  smiling  to  himself,  and 
while  I  was  concocting  some  cutting  speech  wherewith  to 
check  his  gratification,  he  rose,  and  passing  over  to  where 
Annabella  Wilmot  sat  vehemently  coquetting  with  Lord 
Lowborough,  seated  himself  on  the  sofa  beside  her,  and 
attached  himself  to  her  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

'  So  then,'  thought  I,  '  he  despises  me,  because  he  knows 
I  love  him.' 

And  the  reflection  made  me  so  miserable  I  knew  not 
what  to  do.  Milicent  came  and  began  to  admire  my  draw- 
ings, and  make  remarks  upon  them  ;  but  I  could  not  talk  to 
her — I  could  talk  to  no  one,  and,  upon  the  introduction  of 
tea,  I  took  advantage  of  the  open  door  and  the  slight 
diversion  caused  by  its  entrance  to  slip  out — for  I  was  sure  I 
could  not  take  any — and  take  refuge  in  the  library.  My 
aunt  sent  Thomas  in  quest  of  me,  to  ask  if  I  were  not  coming 
to  tea  ;  but  I  bade  him  say  I  should  not  take  any  to-night, 
and,  happily,  she  was  too  much  occupied  with  her  guests  to 
make  any  further  inquiries  at  the  time. 

As  most  of  the  company  had  travelled  far  that  day,  they 
retired  early  to  rest ;  and  having  heard  them  all,  as  I  thought, 
go  up-stairs,  I  ventured  out,  to  get  my  candlestick  from  the 
drawing-room  sideboard.  But  Mr.  Huntingdon  had  lingered 
behind  the  rest.  He  was  just  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  when 
I  opened  the  door,  and  hearing  my  step  in  the  hall — 
though  I  could  hardly  hear  it  myself — he  instantly  turned 
back. 

'  Helen,  is  that  you  ?  '  said  he.  '  Why  did  you  run  away 
from  us  ? ' 

'  Good-night,  Mr.  Huntingdon,"  said  I,  coldly,  not  choos- 
ing to  answer  the  question.  And  I  turned  away  to  enter  the 
drawing-room. 

'  But  you'll  shake  hands,  won't  you  ? '  said  he,  placing 
himself  in  the  doorway  before  me.  And  he  seized  my  hand 
and  held  it,  much  against  my  will. 

'  Let  me  go,  Mr.  Huntingdon,'  said  I.  '  I  want  to  get  a 
candle.' 


158  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  The  candle  will  keep,'  returned  he. 

I  made  a  desperate  effort  to  free  my  hand  from  his 
grasp. 

'  Why  are  you  in  such  a  hurry  to  leave  me,  Helen  ?  '  he 
said,  with  a  smile  of  the  most  provoking  self-sufficiency. 
1  You  don't  hate  me,  you  know.' 

'  Yes,  I  do — at  this  moment.' 

'  Not  you.     It  is  Annabella  Wilmot  you  hate,  not  me.' 

'  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  Annabella  Wilmot,'  said  I, 
burning  with  indignation. 

'  But  I  have,  you  know,'  returned  he,  with  peculiar 
emphasis. 

'  That  is  nothing  to  me,  sir,'  I  retorted. 

'  Is  it  nothing  to  you,  Helen  ?  Will  you  swear  it  ?  Will 
you?' 

'  No,  I  won't,  Mr.  Huntingdon  !  and  I  will  go,'  cried  I, 
not  knowing  whether  to  laugh,  or  to  cry,  or  to  break  out  into 
a  tempest  of  fury. 

'  Go,  then,  you  vixen  ! '  he  said  ;  but  the  instant  he  re- 
leased my  hand  he  had  the  audacity  to  put  his  arm  round 
my  neck,  and  kiss  me. 

Trembling  with  anger  and  agitation,  and  I  don't  know 
what  besides,  I  broke  away,  and*  got  my  candle,  and  rushed 
up-stairs  to  my  room.  He  would  not  have  done  so  but  for 
that  hateful  picture.  And  there  he  had  it  still  in  his  pos- 
session, an  eternal  monument  to  his  pride  and  my  humilia- 
tion. 

It  was  but  little  sleep  I  got  that  night,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing I  rose  perplexed  and  troubled  with  the  thoughts  of 
meeting  him  at  breakfast.  I  knew  not  how  it  was  to  be 
done.  An  assumption  of  dignified,  cold  indifference  would 
hardly  do,  after  what  he  knew  of  my  devotion — to  his  face,  at 
least.  Yet  something  must  be  done  to  check  his  presump- 
tion— I  would  not  submit  to  be  tyrannised  over  by  those 
bright,  laughing  eyes.  And,  accordingly,  I  received  his 
cheerful  morning  salutation  as  calmly  and  coldly  as  my  aunt 
could  have  wished,  and  defeated  with  brief  answers  his  one 


WILDFELL  HALL  159 

or  two  attempts  to  draw  me  into  conversation,  while  I  com- 
ported myself  with  unusual  cheerfulness  and  complaisance 
towards  every  other  member  of  the  party,  especially  Annabella 
Wilmot,  and  even  her  uncle  and  Mr.  Boarham  were  treated 
with  an  extra  amount  of  civility  on  the  occasion,  not  from 
any  motives  of  coquetry,  but  just  to  show  him  that  my  parti- 
cular coolness  and  reserve  arose  from  no  general  ill-humour 
or  depression  of  spirits. 

He  was  not,  however,  to  be  repelled  by  such  acting  as 
this.  He  did  not  talk  much  to  me,  but  when  he  did  speak 
it  was  with  a  degree  of  freedom  and  openness,  and  kindliness 
too,  that  plainly  seemed  to  intimate  he  knew  his  words  were 
music  to  my  ears ;  and  when  his  looks  met  mine  it  was  with 
a  smile — presumptuous,  it  might  be — but  oh !  so  sweet,  so 
bright,  so  genial,  that  I  could  not  possibly  retain  my  anger ; 
every  vestige  of  displeasure  soon  melted  away  beneath  it  like 
morning  clouds  before  the  summer  sun. 

Soon  after  breakfast  all  the  gentlemen  save  one,  with 
boyish  eagerness,  set  out  on  their  expedition  against  the  hap- 
less partridges ;  my  uncle  and  Mr.  Wilmot  on  their  shooting 
ponies,  Mr.  Huntingdon  and  Lord  Lowborough  on  their  legs  : 
the  one  exception  being  Mr.  Boarham,  who,  in  consideration 
of  the  rain  that  had  fallen  during  the  night,  thought  it  pru- 
dent to  remain  behind  a  little  and  join  them  in  a  while 
when  the  sun  had  dried  the  grass.  And  he  favoured  us  all 
with  a  long  and  minute  disquisition  upon  the  evils  and 
dangers  attendant  upon  damp  feet,  delivered  with  the 
most  imperturbable  gravity,  amid  the  jeers  and  laughter 
of  Mr.  Huntingdon  and  my  uncle,  who,  leaving  the  prudent 
sportsman  to  entertain  the  ladies  with  his  medical  discus- 
sions, sallied  forth  with  their  guns,  bending  their  steps  to 
the  stables  first,  to  have  a  look  at  the  horses  and  let  out 
the  dogs. 

Not  desirous  of  sharing  Mr.  Boarham's  company  for  the 
whole  of  the  morning,  I  betook  myself  to  the  library,  and 
there  brought  forth  my  easel  and  began  to  paint.  The  easel 
and  the  painting  apparatus  would  serve  as  an  excuse  for 


160  THE  TENANT  OF 

abandoning  the  drawing-room  if  my  aunt  should  come  to 
complain  of  the  desertion,  and  besides  I  wanted  to  finish  the 
picture.  It  was  one  I  had  taken  great  pains  with,  and  I 
intended  it  to  be  my  masterpiece,  though  it  was  somewhat 
presumptuous  in  the  design.  By  the  bright  azure  of  the  sky, 
and  by  the  warm  and  brilliant  lights  and  deep  long  shadows, 
I  had  endeavoured  to  convey  the  idea  of  a  sunny  morning. 
I  had  ventured  to  give  more  of  the  bright  verdure  of  spring 
or  early  summer  to  the  grass  and  foliage  than  is  commonly 
attempted  in  painting,  The  scene  represented  was  an  open 
glade  in  a  wood.  A  group  of  dark  Scotch  firs  was  introduced 
in  the  middle  distance  to  relieve  the  prevailing  freshness  of 
the  rest ;  but  in  the  foreground  was  part  of  the  gnarled  trunk 
and  of  the  spreading  boughs  of  a  large  forest-tree,  whose 
foliage  was  of  a  brilliant  golden  green — not  golden  from 
autumnal  mellowness,  but  from  the  sunshine  and  the  very 
immaturity  of  the  scarce  expanded  leaves.  Upon  this 
bough,  that  stood  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  sombre  firs, 
were  seated  an  amorous  pair  of  turtle  doves,  whose  soft  sad- 
coloured  plumage  afforded  a  contrast  of  another  nature ;  and 
beneath  it  a  young  girl  was  kneeling  on  the  daisy-spangled 
turf,  with  head  thrown  back  and  masses  of  fair  hair  falling 
on  her  shoulders,  her  hands  clasped,  lips  parted,  and  eyes 
intently  gazing  upward  in  pleased  yet  earnest  contemplation 
of  those  feathered  lovers — too  deeply  absorbed  in  each  other 
to  notice  her. 

I  had  scarcely  settled  to  my  work,  which,  however, 
wanted  but  a  few  touches  to  the  finishing,  when  the  sports- 
men passed  the  window  on  their  return  from  the  stables.  It 
was  partly  open,  and  Mr.  Huntingdon  must  have  seen  me  as 
he  went  by,  for  in  half  a  minute  he  came  back,  and  setting 
his  gun  against  the  wall,  threw  up  the  sash  and  sprang  in, 
and  set  himself  before  my  picture. 

'  Very  pretty,  i'  faith,'  said  he,  after  attentively  regarding  it 
for  a  few  seconds  ;  '  and  a  very  fitting  study  for  a  young  lady. 
Spring  just  opening  into  summer — morning  just  approach- 
ing noon — girlhood  just  ripening  into  womanhood,  and  hope 


WILDFELL  HALL  161 

just  verging  on  fruition.  She's  a  sweet  creature !  but  why 
didn't  you  make  her  black  hair  ? ' 

'  I  thought  light  hair  would  suit  her  better.  You  see  I 
have  made  her  blue-eyed  and  plump,  and  fair  and  rosy.' 

'  Upon  my  word — a  very  Hebe !  I  should  fall  in  love 
with  her  if  I  hadn't  the  artist  before  me.  Sweet  innocent ! 
she's  thinking  there  will  come  a  time  when  she  will  be  wooed 
and  won  like  that  pretty  hen-dove  by  as  fond  and  fervent  a 
lover ;  and  she's  thinking  how  pleasant  it  will  be,  and  how 
tender  and  faithful  he  will  find  her.' 

'  And  perhaps/  suggested  I,  '  how  tender  and  faithful  she 
shall  find  him.' 

'  Perhaps,  for  there  is  no  limit  to  the  wild  extravagance 
of  Hope's  imaginings  at  such  an  age.' 

'Do  you  call  that,  then,  one  of  her  wild,  extravagant 
delusions  ? ' 

'  No  ;  my  heart  tells  me  it  is  not.  I  might  have  thought 
so  once,  but  now,  I  say,  give  me  the  girl  I  love,  and  I  will 
swear  eternal  constancy  to  her  and  her  alone,  through  summer 
and  winter,  through  youth  and  age,  and  life  and  death !  if 
age  and  death  must  come.' 

He  spoke  this  in  such  serious  earnest  that  my  heart 
bounded  with  delight ;  but  the  minute  after  he  changed  his 
tone,  and  asked,  with  a  significant  smile,  if  I  had  '  any  more 
portraits.' 

'  No,'  replied  I,  reddening  with  confusion  and  wrath. 
But  my  portfolio  was  on  the  table :  he  took  it  up,  and  coolly 
sat  down  to  examine  its  contents. 

'  Mr.  Huntingdon,  those  are  my  unfinished  sketches,'  cried 
I,  '  and  I  never  let  any  one  see  them.' 

And  I  placed  my  hand  on  the  portfolio  to  wrest  it  from 
him,  but  he  maintained  his  hold,  assuring  me  that  he  '  liked 
unfinished  sketches  of  all  things.' 

'  But  I  hate  them  to  be  seen,'  returned  I.  '  I  can't  let  you 
have  it,  indeed ! ' 

'  Let  me  have  its  bowels  then,'  said  he ;  and  just  as  I 
wrenched  the  portfolio  from  his  hand,  he  deftly  abstracted 


162  THE   TENANT  OP 

the  greater  part  of  its  contents,  and  after  turning  them  over 
a  moment  he  cried  out, — '  Bless  my  stars,  here's  another  ; 
and  slipped  a  small  oval  of  ivory  paper  into  his  waistcoat 
pocket — a  complete  miniature  portrait  that  I  had  sketched 
with  such  tolerable  success  as  to  be  induced  to  colour  it  with 
great  pains  and  care.  But  I  was  determined  he  should  not 
keep  it. 

'Mr.  Huntingdon,'  cried  I,  'I  insist  upon  having  thai 
back !  It  is  mine,  and  you  have  no  right  to  take  it.  Give  it 
me  directly — I'll  never  forgive  you  if  you  don't ! ' 

But  the  more  vehemently  I  insisted,  the  more  he 
aggravated  my  distress  by  his  insulting,  gleeful  laugh.  At 
length,  however,  he  restored  it  to  me,  saying, — '  Well,  well, 
since  you  value  it  so  much,  I'll  not  deprive  you  of  it.' 

To  show  him  how  I  valued  it,  I  tore  it  in  two  and  threw 
it  into  the  fire.  He  was  not  prepared  for  this.  His  merriment 
suddenly  ceasing,  he  stared  in  mute  amazement  at  the 
consuming  treasure  ;  and  then,  with  a  careless '  Humph  !  I'll 
go  and  shoot  now,'  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  vacated  the 
apartment  by  the  window  as  he  came,  and  setting  on  his 
hat  with  an  air,  took  up  his  gun  and  walked  away,  whistling 
as  he  went — and  leaving  me  not  too  much  agitated  to  finish 
my  picture,  for  I  was  glad,  at  the  moment,  that  I  had  vexed 
him. 

When  I  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  I  found  Mr.  Boar- 
ham  had  ventured  to  follow  his  comrades  to  the  field ;  and 
shortly  after  lunch,  to  which  they  did  not  think  of  returning, 
I  volunteered  to  accompany  the  ladies  in  a  walk,  and  show 
Annabella  and  Milicent  the  beauties  of  the  country.  We^ 
took  a  long  ramble,  and  re-entered  the  park  just  as  the 
sportsmen  were  returning  from  their  expedition.  Toil-spent 
and  travel-stained,  the  main  body  of  them  crossed  over  the 
grass  to  avoid  us,  but  Mr.  Huntingdon,  all  spattered  and 
splashed  as  he  was,  and  stained  with  the  blood  of  his  prey — 
to  the  no  small  offence  of  my  aunt's  strict  sense  of 
propriety — came  out  of  his  way  to  meet  us,  with  cheerful 
smiles  and  words  for  all  but  me,  and  placing  himself  between 


WILDFELL   HALL  163 

Annabella  Wilmot  and  myself,  walked  up  the  road  and  began 
to  relate  the  various  exploits  and  disasters  of  the  day,  in  a 
manner  that  would  have  convulsed  me  with  laughter  if  I  had 
been  on  good  terms  with  him ;  but  he  addressed  himself 
entirely  to  Annabella,  and  I,  of  course,  left  all  the  laughter 
and  all  the  badinage  to  her,  and  affecting  the  utmost 
indifference  to  whatever  passed  between  them,  walked  along 
a  few  paces  apart,  and  looking  every  way  but  theirs,  while 
my  aunt  and  Milicent  went  before,  linked  arm  in  arm  and 
gravely  discoursing  together.  At  length  Mr.  Huntingdon 
turned  to  me,  and  addressing  me  in  a  confidential  whisper, 
said, — '  Helen,  why  did  you  burn  my  picture  ? ' 

4  Because  I  wished  to  destroy  it,'  I  answered,  with  an 
asperity  it  is  useless  now  to  lament. 

'  Oh,  very  good ! '  was  the  reply  ;  '  if  you  don't  value  me, 
I  must  turn  to  somebody  that  will.' 

I  thought  it  was  partly  in  jest — a  half-playful  mixture  of 
mock  resignation  and  pretended  indifference :  but  immediately 
he  resumed  his  place  beside  Miss  Wilmot,  and  from  that  hour 
to  this — during  all  that  evening,  and  all  the  next  day,  and 
the  next,  and  the  next,  and  all  this  morning  (the  22nd),  he 
has  never  given  me  one  kind  word  or  one  pleasant  look — 
never  spoken  to  me,  but  from  pure  necessity — never  glanced 
towards  me  but  with  a  cold,  unfriendly  look  I  thought  him 
quite  incapable  of  assuming. 

My  aunt  observes  the  change,  and  though  she  has  not 
inquired  the  cause  or  made  any  remark  to  me  on  the  subject, 
I  see  it  gives  her  pleasure.  Miss  Wilmot  observes  it,  too, 
and  triumphantly  ascribes  it  to  her  own  superior  charms  and 
blandishments;  but  I  am  truly  miserable — more  so  than 
I  like  to  acknowledge  to  myself.  Pride  refuses  to  aid  me. 
It  has  brought  me  into  the  scrape,  and  will  not  help  me  out 
of  it. 

He  meant  no  harm — it  was  only  his  joyous,  playful 
spirit ;  and  I,  by  my  acrimonious  resentment — so  serious,  so 
disproportioned  to  the  offence — have  so  wounded  his  feelings, 
so  deeply  offended  him,  that  I  fear  he  will  never  forgive  me — 


164  THE  TENANT  OF 

and  all  for  a  mere  jest !  He  thinks  I  dislike  him,  and  he 
must  continue  to  think  so.  I  must  lose  him  for  ever,  and 
Annabella  may  win  him,  and  triumph  as  she  will. 

But  it  is  not  my  loss  nor  her  triumph  that  I  deplore  so 
greatly  as  the  wreck  of  my  fond  hopes  for  his  advantage, 
and  her  unworthiness  of  his  affection,  and  the  injury  he  will 
do  himself  by  trusting  his  happiness  to  her.  She  does  not 
love  him  :  she  thinks  only  of  herself.  She  cannot  appreciate 
the  good  that  is  in  him  :  she  will  neither  see  it,  nor  value  it, 
nor  cherish  it.  She  will  neither  deplore  his  faults  nor 
attempt  their  amendment,  but  rather  aggravate  them  by  her 
own.  And  I  doubt  whether  she  will  not  deceive  him  after 
all.  I  see  she  is  playing  double  between  him  and  Lord 
Lowborough,  and  while  she  amuses  herself  with  the  lively 
Huntingdon,  she  tries  her  utmost  to  enslave  his  moody 
friend  ;  and  should  she  succeed  in  bringing  both  to  her  feet, 
the  fascinating  commoner  will  have  but  little  chance  against 
the  lordly  peer.  If  he  observes  her  artful  by-play,  it  gives 
him  no  uneasiness,  but  rather  adds  new  zest  to  his  diversion 
by  opposing  a  stimulating  check  to  his  otherwise  too  easy 
conquest. 

Messrs.  Wilmot  and  Boarham  have  severally  taken 
occasion  by  his  neglect  of  me  to  renew  their  advances ;  and 
if  I  were  like  Annabella  and  some  others  I  should  take 
advantage  of  their  perseverance  to  endeavour  to  pique  him 
into  a  revival  of  affection ;  but,  justice  and  honesty  apart, 
I  could  not  bear  to  do  it.  I  am  annoyed  enough  by  their 
present  persecutions  without  encouraging  them  further  ;  and 
even  if  I  did  it  would  have  precious  little  effect  upon  him. 
He  sees  me  suffering  under  the  condescending  attentions 
and  prosaic  discourses  of  the  one,  and  the  repulsive  obtrusions 
of  the  other,  without  so  much  as  a  shadow  of  commiseration 
for  me,  or  resentment  against  my  tormentors.  He  never 
could  have  loved  me,  or  he  would  not  have  resigned  me  so 
willingly,  and  he  would  not  go  on  talking  to  everybody  else 
so  cheerfully  as  he  does — laughing  and  jesting  with  Lord 
Lowborough  and  my  uncle,  teasing  Milicent  Hargrave,  and 


WILDFELL  HALL  165 

flirting  with  Annabella  Wilmot — as  if  nothing  were  on  his 
mind.  Oh  !  why  can't  I  hate  him  ?  I  must  be  infatuated, 
or  I  should  scorn  to  regret  him  as  I  do.  But  I  must  rally 
all  the  powers  I  have  remaining,  and  try  to  tear  him  from 
my  heart.  There  goes  the  dinner-bell,  and  here  comes  my 
aunt  to  scold  me  for  sitting  here  at  my  desk  all  day,  instead 
of  staying  with  the  company :  wish  the  company  were — 
gone. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TWENTY-SECOND  :  Night. — What  have  I  done  ?  and  what 
will  be  the  end  of  it  ?  I  cannot  calmly  reflect  upon  it ;  I 
cannot  sleep.  I  must  have  recourse  to  my  diary  again ;  I 
will  commit  it  to  paper  to-night,  and  see  what  I  shall  think 
of  it  to-morrow. 

I  went  down  to  dinner  resolving  to  be  cheerful  and  well- 
conducted,  and  kept  my  resolution  very  creditably,  considering 
how  my  head  ached  and  how  internally  wretched  I  felt.  I 
don't  know  what  is  come  over  me  of  late ;  my  very  energies, 
both  mental  and  physical,  must  be  strangely  impaired,  or  I 
should  not  have  acted  so  weakly  in  many  respects  as  I  have 
done;  but  I  have  not  been  well  this  last  day  or  two.  I 
suppose  it  is  with  sleeping  and  eating  so  little,  and  thinking 
so  much,  and  being  so  continually  out  of  humour.  But  to 
return.  I  was  exerting  myself  to  sing  and  play  for  the 
amusement,  and  at  the  request,  of  my  aunt  and  Milicent, 
before  the  gentlemen  came  into  the  drawing-room  (Miss 
Wilmot  never  likes  to  waste  her  musical  efforts  on  ladies' 
ears  alone).  Milicent  had  asked  for  a  little  Scotch  song, 
and  I  was  just  in  the  middle  of  it  when  they  entered.  The 
first  thing  Mr.  Huntingdon  did  was  to  walk  up  to  Annabella. 

'  Now,  Miss  Wilmot,  won't  you  give  us  some  music  to- 
night ?  '  said  he.  '  Do  now  !  I  know  you  will,  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  have  been  hungering  and  thirsting  all  day  for  the 
sound  of  your  voice.  Come  !  the  piano's  vacant.' 

It  was,  for  I  had  quitted  it  immediately  upon  hearing  his 
petition.  Had  I  been  endowed  with  a  proper  degree  of  self- 
possession,  I  should  have  turned  to  the  lady  myself,  and 


WILDFELL  HALL  167 

cheerfully  joined  my  entreaties  to  his,  whereby  I  should 
have  disappointed  his  expectations,  if  the  affront  had  been 
purposely  given,  or  made  him  sensible  of  the  wrong,  if  it  had 
only  arisen  from  thoughtlessness ;  but  I  felt  it  too  deeply 
to  do  anything  but  rise  from  the  music-stool,  and  throw 
myself  back  on  the  sofa,  suppressing  with  difficulty  the 
audible  expression  of  the  bitterness  I  felt  within.  I  knew 
Annabella's  musical  talents  were  superior  to  mine,  but  that 
was  no  reason  why  I  should  be  treated  as  a  perfect  nonentity. 
The  time  and  the  manner  of  his  asking  her  appeared  like  a 
gratuitous  insult  to  me ;  and  I  could  have  wept  with  pure 
vexation. 

Meantime,  she  exultingly  seated  herself  at  the  piano,  and 
favoured  him  with  two  of  his  favourite  songs,  in  such 
superior  style  that  even  I  soon  lost  my  anger  in  admiration, 
and  listened  with  a  sort  of  gloomy  pleasure  to  the  skilful 
modulations  of  her  full-toned  and  powerful  voice,  so 
judiciously  aided  by  her  rounded  and  spirited  touch ;  and 
while  my  ears  drank  in  the  sound,  my  eyes  rested  on  the 
face  of  her  principal  auditor,  and  derived  an  equal  or 
superior  delight  from  the  contemplation  of  his  speaking 
countenance,  as  he  stood  beside  her — that  eye  and  brow 
lighted  up  with  keen  enthusiasm,  and  that  sweet  smile  pass- 
ing and  appearing  like  gleams  of  sunshine  on  an  April  day- 
No  wonder  he  should  hunger  and  thirst  to  hear  her  sing.  I 
now  forgave  him  from  my  heart  his  reckless  slight  of  me, 
and  I  felt  ashamed  at  my  pettish  resentment  of  such  a  trifle 
— ashamed  too  of  those  bitter  envious  pangs  that  gnawed  my 
inmost  heart,  in  spite  of  all  this  admiration  and  delight. 

'There  now,'  said  she,  playfully  running  her  fingers  over 
the  keys  when  she  had  concluded  the  second  song.  '  What 
shall  I  give  you  next  ?  ' 

But  in  saying  this  she  looked  back  at  Lord  Lowborough, 
who  was  standing  a  little  behind,  leaning  against  the  back  of  a 
chair,  an  attentive  listener,  too,  experiencing,  to  judge  by  his 
countenance,  much  the  same  feelings  of  mingled  pleasure 
and  sadness  as  I  did.  But  the  look  she  gave  him  plainly 
7 


168  THE   TENANT   OF 

said,  'Do  you  choose  for  me  now :  I  have  done  enough  for 
him,  and  will  gladly  exert  myself  to  gratify  you  ;  '  and  thus 
encouraged,  his  lordship  came  forward,  and  turning  over  the 
music,  presently  set  before  her  a  little  song  that  I  had 
noticed  before,  and  read  more  than  once,  with  an  interest 
arising  from  the  circumstance  of  my  connecting  it  in  my 
mind  with  the  reigning  tyrant  of  my  thoughts.  And  now, 
with  my  nerves  already  excited  and  half  unstrung,  I  could 
not  hear  those  words  so  sweetly  warbled  forth  without  some 
symptoms  of  emotion  I  was  not  able  to  suppress.  Tears  rose 
unbidden  to  my  eyes,  and  I  buried  my  face  in  the  sofa-pillow 
that  they  might  flow  unseen  while  I  listened.  The  air  was 
simple,  sweet,  and  sad.  It  is  still  running  in  my  head,  and  so 
are  the  words  : — 

Farewell  to  thee  !  but  not  farewell 
To  all  my  fondest  thoughts  of  thee  : 

Within  my  heart  they  still  shall  dwell ; 
And  they  shall  cheer  and  comfort  me. 

0  beautiful,  and  full  of  grace  ! 

If  thou  hadst  never  met  mine  eye, 

1  had  not  dreamed  a  living  face 

Could  fancied  charms  so  far  outvie. 

If  I  may  ne'er  behold  again 

That  form  and  face  so  dear  to  me, 
Nor  hear  thy  voice,  still  would  I  fain 

Preserve,  for  aye,  their  memory. 

That  voice,  the  magic  of  whose  tone 

Can  wake  an  echo  in  my  breast, 
Creating  feelings  that,  alone, 

Can  make  my  tranced  spirit  blest. 

That  laughing  eye,  whose  sunny  beam 
My  memory  would  not  cherish  less ; — 

And  oh,  that  smile !  whose  joyous  gleam 
No  mortal  languish  can  express. 

Adieu !  but  let  me  cherish,  still, 
The  hope  with  which  I  cannot  part. 

Contempt  may  wound,  and  coldness  chill, 
But  still  it  lingers  in  my  heart. 


WILDFELL  HALL  169 

And  who  can  tell  but  Heaven,  at  last, 
May  answer  all  my  thousand  prayers, 

And  bid  the  future  pay  the  past 

With  joy  for  anguish,  smiles  for  tears. 

When  it  ceased,  I  longed  for  nothing  so  much  as  to  be 
out  of  the  room.  The  sofa  was  not  far  from  the  door,  but  I 
did  not  dare  to  raise  my  head,  for  I  knew  Mr.  Huntingdon 
was  standing  near  me,  and  I  knew  by  the  sound  of  his  voice, 
as  he  spoke  in  answer  to  some  remark  of  Lord  Lowborough's, 
that  his  face  was  turned  towards  me.  Perhaps  a  half- 
suppressed  sob  had  caught  his  ear,  and  caused  him  to  look 
round — heaven  forbid  !  But  with  a  violent  effort,  I  checked 
all  further  signs  of  weakness,  dried  my  tears,  and,  when  I 
thought  he  had  turned  away  again,  rose,  and  instantly  left 
the  apartment,  taking  refuge  in  my  favourite  resort,  the 
library. 

There  was  no  light  there  but  the  faint  red  glow  of  the 
neglected  fire ; — but  I  did  not  want  a  light ;  I  only  wanted  to 
indulge  my  thoughts,  unnoticed  and  undisturbed  ;  and  sitting 
down  on  a  low  stool  before  the  easy-chair,  I  sunk  my  head 
upon  its  cushioned  seat,  and  thought,  and  thought,  until  the 
tears  gushed  out  again,  and  I  wept  like  any  child.  Presently, 
however,  the  door  was  gently  opened  and  someone  entered 
the  room.  I  trusted  it  was  only  a  servant,  and  did  not  stir. 
The  door  was  closed  again — but  I  was  not  alone ;  a  hand 
gently  touched  my  shoulder,  and  a  voice  said,  softly, — '  Helen, 
what  is  the  matter  ? ' 

I  could  not  answer  at  the  moment. 

'  You  must,  and  shall  tell  me,'  was  added,  more  vehe- 
mently, and  the  speaker  threw  himself  on  his  knees  beside  me 
on  the  rug,  and  forcibly  possessed  himself  of  my  hand  ;  but 
I  hastily  caught  it  away,  and  replied, — '  It  is  nothing  to  you, 
Mr.  Huntingdon.' 

'  Are  you  sure  it  is  nothing  to  me  ?  '  he  returned ;  '  can 
you  swear  that  you  were  not  thinking  of  me  while  you  wept  ? ' 

This  was  unendurable.  I  made  an  effort  to  rise,  but  he 
was  kneeling  on  my  dress. 


170  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  Tell  me,'  continued  he — '  I  want  to  know, — because  if 
you  were,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you, — and  if  not,  I'll  go. 

'  Go  then  ! '  I  cried  ;  but,  fearing  he  would  obey  too  well, 
and  never  come  again,  I  hastily  added — '  Or  say  what  you 
have  to  say,  and  have  done  with  it ! ' 

'But  which?'  said  he — 'for  I  shall  only  say  it  if  you 
really  were  thinking  of  me.  So  tell  me,  Helen.' 

'  You're  excessively  impertinent,  Mr.  Huntingdon  ! ' 

'Not  at  all — too  pertinent,  you  mean.  So  you  won't 
tell  me? — Well,  I'll  spare  your  woman's  pride,  and,  con- 
struing your  silence  into  "  Yes,"  I'll  take  it  for  granted  that 
I  was  the  subject  of  your  thoughts,  and  the  cause  of  your 
affliction ' 

'  Indeed,  sir ' 

'  If  you  deny  it,  I  won't  tell  you  my  secret,'  threatened  he ; 
and  I  did  not  interrupt  him  again,  or  even  attempt  to  repulse 
him  :  though  he  had  taken  my  hand  once  more,  and  half  em- 
braced me  with  his  other  arm,  I  was  scarcely  conscious  of  it 
at  the  time. 

'  It  is  this,'  resumed  he  :  '  that  Annabella  Wilmot,  in 
comparison  with  you,  is  like  a  flaunting  peony  compared 
with  a  sweet,  wild  rosebud  gemmed  with  dew — and  I  love 
you  to  distraction  ! — Now,  tell  me  if  that  intelligence  gives 
you  any  pleasure.  Silence  again  ?  That  means  yes.  Then 
let  me  add,  that  I  cannot  live  without  you,  and  if  you 
answer  No  to  this  last  question,  you  will  drive  me  mad. — 
Will  you  bestow  yourself  upon  me  ? — you  will ! '  he  cried, 
nearly  squeezing  me  to  death  in  his  arms. 

'  No,  no ! '  I  exclaimed,  struggling  to  free  myself  from 
him — '  you  must  ask  my  uncle  and  aunt.' 

'  They  won't  refuse  me,  if  you  don't.' 

'  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that — my  aunt  dislikes  you.' 

'  But  you  don't,  Helen — say  you  love  me,  and  I'll  go. 

'  I  wish  you  would  go  !  '  I  replied. 

'  I  will,  this  instant, — if  you'll  only  say  you  love  me.' 

'  You  know  I  do,'  I  answered.  And  again  he  caught  me 
in  his  arms,  and  smothered  me  with  kisses, 


WILDFELL  HALL  171 

At  that  moment  my  aunt  opened  wide  the  door,  and 
stood  before  us,  candle  in  hand,  in  shocked  and  horrified 
amazement,  gazing  alternately  at  Mr.  Huntingdon  and  me 
— for  we  had  both  started  up,  and  now  stood  wide  enough 
asunder.  But  his  confusion  was  only  for  a  moment. 
Eallying  in  an  instant,  with  the  most  enviable  assurance,  he 
began, — 'I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons,  Mrs.  Maxwell! 
Don't  be  too  severe  upon  me.  I've  been  asking  your  sweet 
niece  to  take  me  for  better,  for  worse ;  and  she,  like  a  good 
girl,  informs  me  she  cannot  think  of  it  without  her  uncle's 
and  aunt's  consent.  So  let  me  implore  you  not  to  condemn 
me  to  eternal  wretchedness :  if  you  favour  my  cause,  I  am 
safe ;  for  Mr.  Maxwell,  I  am  certain,  can  refuse  you 
nothing.' 

1  We  will  talk  of  this  to-morrow,  sir,'  said  my  aunt, 
coldly.  '  It  is  a  subject  that  demands  mature  and  serious 
deliberation.  At  present,  you  had  better  return  to  the 
drawing-room.' 

'  But  meantime,'  pleaded  he,  '  let  me  commend  my  cause 
to  your  most  indulgent ' 

'  No  indulgence  for  you,  Mr.  Huntingdon,  must  come 
between  me  and  the  consideration  of  my  niece's  happiness.' 

'  Ah,  true  !  I  know  she  is  an  angel,  and  I  am  a  presump- 
tuous dog  to  dream  of  possessing  such  a  treasure;  but, 
nevertheless,  I  would  sooner  die  than  relinquish  her  in  favour 
of  the  best  man  that  ever  went  to  heaven — and  as  for  her 
happiness,  I  would  sacrifice  my  body  and  soul ' 

'  Body  and  soul,  Mr.  Huntingdon — sacrifice  your  soul  ?  ' 

'  Well,  I  would  lay  down  life ' 

'  You  would  not  be  required  to  lay  it  down.' 

'  I  would  spend  it,  then — devote  my  life — and  all  its 
powers  to  the  promotion  and  preservation ' 

'  Another  time,  sir,  we  will  talk  of  this — and  I  should 
have  felt  disposed  to  judge  more  favourably  of  your  preten- 
sions, if  you  too  had  chosen  another  time  and  place,  and  let 
me  add — another  manner  for  your  declaration.' 

'  Why,  you  see,  Mrs.  Maxwell,'  he  began 


172  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  Pardon  me,  sir,'  said  she,  with  dignity — '  The  company 
are  inquiring  for  you  in  the  other  room.'  And  she  turned 
to  me. 

'  Then  you  must  plead  for  me,  Helen,'  said  he,  and  at 
length  withdrew. 

'  You  had  better  retire  to  your  room,  Helen,"  said  my 
aunt,  gravely.  '  I  will  discuss  this  matter  with  you,  too,  to- 
morrow.' 

'Don't  be  angry,  aunt,'  said  I. 

'  My  dear,  I  am  not  angry,'  she  replied  :  '  I  am  surprised. 
If  it  is  true  that  you  told  him  you  could  not  accept  his  offer 
without  our  consent ' 

'  It  is  true,'  interrupted  I. 

'  Then  how  could  you  permit ?  ' 

'  I  couldn't  help  it,  aunt,'  I  cried,  bursting  into  tears. 
They  were  not  altogether  the  tears  of  sorrow,  or  of  fear  for 
her  displeasure,  but  rather  the  outbreak  of  the  general 
tumultuous  excitement  of  my  feelings.  But  my  good  aunt 
was  touched  at  my  agitation.  In  a  softer  tone,  she  repeated 
her  recommendation  to  retire,  and,  gently  kissing  my  fore- 
head, bade  me  good-night,  and  put  her  candle  in  my  hand  ; 
and  I  went ;  but  my  brain  worked  so,  I  could  not  think  of 
sleeping.  I  feel  calmer  now  that  I  have  written  all  this ; 
and  I  will  go  to  bed,  and  try  to  win  tired  nature's  sweet 
restorer. 


CHAPTEE  XX 

SEPTEMBEE  24TH. — In  the  morning  I  rose,  light  and  cheerful — 
nay,  intensely  happy.  The  hovering  cloud  cast  over  me  by 
my  aunt's  views,  and  by  the  fear  of  not  obtaining  her  consent, 
was  lost  in  the  bright  effulgence  of  my  own  hopes,  and  the 
too  delightful  consciousness  of  requited  love.  It  was  a 
splendid  morning ;  and  I  went  out  to  enjoy  it,  in  a  quiet 
ramble,  in  company  with  my  own  blissful  thoughts.  The 
dew  was  on  the  grass,  and  ten  thousand  gossamers  were 
waving  in  the  breeze ;  the  happy  red-breast  was  pouring  out 
its  little  soul  in  song,  and  my  heart  overflowed  with  silent 
hymns  of  gratitude  and  praise  to  heaven. 

But  I  had  not  wandered  far  before  my  solitude  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  only  person  that  could  have  disturbed  my 
musings,  at  that  moment,  without  being  looked  upon  as  an 
unwelcome  intruder  :  Mr.  Huntingdon  came  suddenly  upon 
me.  So  unexpected  was  the  apparition,  that  I  might  have 
thought  it  the  creation  of  an  over-excited  imagination,  had 
the  sense  of  sight  alone  borne  witness  to  his  presence  ;  but 
immediately  I  felt  his  strong  arm  round  my  waist  and  his 
warm  kiss  on  my  cheek,  while  his  keen  and  gleeful  salutaj 
tion,  '  My  own  Helen  ! '  was  ringing  in  my  ear. 

'  Not  yours  yet ! '  said  I,  hastily  swerving  aside  from  this 
too  presumptuous  greeting.  '  Eemember  my  guardians.  You 
will  not  easily  obtain  my  aunt's  consent.  Don't  you  see  she 
is  prejudiced  against  you  ? ' 

'  I  do,  dearest ;  and  you  must  tell  me  why,  that  I  may 
best  know  how  to  combat  her  objections.  I  suppose  she 


174  THE  TENANT  OP 

thinks  I  am  a  prodigal/  pursued  he,  observing  that  I  was 
unwilling  to  reply,  '  and  concludes  that  I  shall  have  but 
little  worldly  goods  wherewith  to  endow  my  better  half  ?  If 
so,  you  must  tell  her  that  my  property  is  mostly  entailed, 
and  I  cannot  get  rid  of  it.  There  may  be  a  few  mortgages 
on  the  rest — a  few  trifling  debts  and  incumbrances  here  and 
there,  but  nothing  to  speak  of ;  and  though  I  acknowledge  I 
am  not  so  rich  as  I  might  be — or  have  been — still,  I  think, 
we  could  manage  pretty  comfortably  on  what's  left.  My 
father,  you  know,  was  something  of  a  miser,  and  in  his 
latter  days  especially  saw  no  pleasure  in  life  but  to  amass 
riches  ;  and  so  it  is  no  wonder  that  his  son  should  make  it  his 
chief  delight  to  spend  them,  which  was  accordingly  the  case, 
until  my  acquaintance  with  you,  dear  Helen,  taught  me  other 
views  and  nobler  aims.  And  the  very  idea  of  having  you  to 
care  for  under  my  roof  would  force  me  to  moderate  my 
expenses  and  live  like  a  Christian — not  to  speak  of  all  the 
prudence  and  virtue  you  would  instil  into  my  mind  by  your 
wise  counsels  and  sweer,  attractive  goodness.' 

1  But  it  is  not  that,' said  I;  '  it  is  not  money  my  aunt 
thinks  about.  She  knows  better  than  to  value  worldly  wealth 
above  its  price.' 

'  What  is  it,  then  ?  ' 

'  She  wishes  me  to — to  marry  none  but  a  really  good 
man.' 

'  What,  a  man  of "  decided  piety  "  ? — ahem  ! — Well,  come, 
I'll  manage  that  too  !  It's  Sunday  to-day,  isn't  it  ?  I'll  go  to 
church  morning,  afternoon,  and  evening,  and  comport  myself 
in  such  a  godly  sort  that  she  shall  regard  me  with  admiration 
and  sisterly  love,  as  a  brand  plucked  from  the  burning.  I'll 
come  home  sighing  like  a  furnace,  and  full  of  the  savour  and 
unction  of  dear  Mr.  Blatant's  discourse ' 

'  Mr.  Leighton,'  said  I,  dryly. 

'  Is  Mr.  Leighton  a  "  sweet  preacher,"  Helen — a  "  dear, 
delightful,  heavenly-minded  man  "  ? ' 

'  He  is  a  good  man,  Mr.  Huntingdon.  I  wish  I  could  say 
half  as  much  for  you.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  175 

'  Oh,  I  forgot,  you  are  a  saint,  too.  I  crave  your  pardon, 
dearest — but  don't  call  me  Mr.  Huntingdon;  my  name  is 
Arthur.' 

'  I'll  call  you  nothing — for  I'll  have  nothing  at  all  to  do 
with  you  if  you  talk  in  that  way  any  more.  If  you  really 
mean  to  deceive  my  aunt  as  you  say,  you  are  very  wicked  ; 
and  if  not,  you  are  very  wrong  to  jest  on  such  a  subject.' 

'  I  stand  corrected,'  said  he,  concluding  his  laugh  with  a 
sorrowful  sigh.  '  Now,'  resumed  he,,  after  a  momentary 
pause,  '  let  us  talk  about  something  else.  And  come  nearer 
to  me,  Helen,  and  take  my  arm  ;  and  then  I'll  let  you  alone. 
I  can't  be  quiet  while  I  see  you  walking  there.' 

I  complied ;  but  said  we  must  soon  return  to  the 
house. 

'  No  one  will  be  down  to  breakfast  yet,  for  long  enough,' 
he  answered.  'You  spoke  of  your  guardians  just  now, 
Helen,  but  is  not  your  father  still  living  ?  ' 

c  Yes,  but  I  always  look  upon  my  uncle  and  aunt  as  my 
guardians,  for  they  are  so  in  deed,  though  not  in  name. 
My  father  has  entirely  given  me  up  to  their  care.  I  have 
never  seen  him  since  dear  mamma  died,  when  I  was  a  very 
little  girl,  and  my  aunt,  at  her  request,  offered  to  take  charge 
of  me,  and  took  me  away  to  Staningley,  where  I  have  re- 
mained ever  since ;  and  I  don't  think  he  would  object  to 
anything  for  me  that  she  thought  proper  to  sanction.' 

1  But  would  he  sanction  anything  to  which  she  thought) 
proper  to  object  ? ' 

'  No,  I  don't  think  he  cares  enough  about  me.' 

'  He  is  very  much  to  blame — but  he  doesn't  know  what 
an  angel  he  has  for  his  daughter — which  is  all  the  better  for 
me,  as,  if  he  did,  he  would  not  be  willing  to  part  with  such 
a  treasure.' 

'  And  Mr.  Huntingdon,'  said  I,  '  I  suppose  you  know  I 
am  not  an  heiress  ?  ' 

He  protested  he  had  never  given  it  a  thought,  and 
begged  I  would  not  disturb  his  present  enjoyment  by  the 
mention  of  such  uninteresting  subjects.  I  was  glad  of  this 


176  THE  TENANT  OF 

proof  of  disinterested  affection  ;  for  Annabella  Wilmot  is  the 
probable  heiress  to  all  her  uncle's  wealth,  in  addition  to 
her  late  father's  property,  which  she  has  already  in  posses- 
sion. 

I  now  insisted  upon  retracing  our  steps  to  the  house ;  but 
we  walked  slowly,  and  went  on  talking  as  we  proceeded.  I 
need  not  repeat  all  we  said  :  let  me  rather  refer  to  what 
passed  between  my  aunt  and  me,  after  breakfast,  when  Mr. 
Huntingdon  called  my  uncle  aside,  no  doubt  to  make  his 
proposals,  and  she  beckoned  me  into  another  room,  where 
she  once  more  commenced  a  solemn  remonstrance,  which, 
however,  entirely  failed  to  convince  me  that  her  view  of  the 
case  was  preferable  to  my  own. 

'  You  judge  him  uncharitably,  aunt,  I  know,'  said  I. 
'  His  very  friends  are  not  half  so  bad  as  you  represent  them. 
There  is  Walter  Hargrave,  Milicent's  brother,  for  one  :  he  is 
but  a  little  lower  than  the  angels,  if  half  she  says  of  him  is 
true.  She  is  continually  talking  to  me  about  him,  and 
lauding  his  many  virtues  to  the  skies.' 

'  You  will  form  a  very  inadequate  estimate  of  a  man's 
character,'  replied  she,  '  if  you  judge  by  what  a  fond  sister 
says  of  him.  The  worst  of  them  generally  know  how  to 
hide  their  misdeeds  from  their  sisters'  eyes,  and  their 
mother's,  too.' 

'  And  there  is  Lord  Lowborough,'  continued  I,  '  quite  a 
decent  man.' 

'  Who  told  you  so  ?  Lord  Lowborough  is  a  desperate 
man.  He  has  dissipated  his  fortune  in  gambling  and  other 
things,  and  is  now  seeking  an  heiress  to  retrieve  it.  I  told 
Miss  Wilmot  so ;  but  you're  all  alike :  she  haughtily 
answered  she  was  very  much  obliged  to  me,  but  she  believed 
she  knew  when  a  man  was  seeking  her  for  her  fortune,  and 
when  for  herself ;  she  flattered  herself  she  had  had  ex- 
perience enough  in  those  matters  to  be  justified  in  trusting 
to  her  own  judgment — and  as -for  his  lordship's  lack  of 
fortune,  she  cared  nothing  about  that,  as  she  hoped  her  own 
would  suffice  for  both ;  and  as  for  his  wildness,  she  supposed 


WILDFELL  HALL  177 

he  was  no  worse  than  others — besides,  he  was  reformed  now. 
Yes,  they  can  all  play  the  hypocrite  when  they  want  to  take 
in  a  fond,  misguided  woman  ! ' 

'  Well,  I  think  he's  about  as  good  as  she  is,'  said  I.  '  But 
when  Mr.  Huntingdon  is  married,  he  won't  have  many 
opportunities  of  consorting  with  his  bachelor  friends ; — and 
the  worse  they  are,  the  more  I  long  to  deliver  him  from 
them.' 

'  To  be  sure,  my  dear ;  and  the  worse  he  is,  I  suppose, 
the  more  you  long  to  deliver  him  from  himself.' 

'  Yes,  provided  he  is  not  incorrigible — that  is,  the  more  I 
long  to  deliver  him  from  his  faults — to  give  him  an 
opportunity  of  shaking  off  the  adventitious  evil  got  from 
contact  with  others  worse  than  himself,  and  shining  out  in 
the  unclouded  light  of  his  own  genuine  goodness — to  do  my 
utmost  to  help  his  better  self  against  his  worse,  and  make 
him  what  he  would  have  been  if  he  had  not,  from  the 
beginning,  had  a  bad,  selfish,  miserly  father,  who,  to  gratify 
his  own  sordid  passions,  restricted  him  in  the  most  innocent 
enjoyments  of  childhood  and  youth,  and  so  disgusted  him 
with  every  kind  of  restraint; — and  a  foolish  mother  who 
indulged  him  to  the  top  of  his  bent,  deceiving  her  husband 
for  him,  and  doing  her  utmost  to  encourage  those  germs  of 
folly  and  vice  it  was  her  duty  to  suppress, — and  then,  such  a 
set  of  companions  as  you  represent  his  friends  to  be ' 

'  Poor  man ! '  said  she,  sarcastically,  '  his  kind  have 
greatly  wronged  him !  ' 

'  They  have ! '  cried  I — '  and  they  shall  wrong  him  no 
more — his  wife  shall  undo  what  his  mother  did ! ' 

'  Well,'  said  she,  after  a  short  pause,  '  I  must  say,  Helen, 
I  thought  better  of  your  judgment  than  this — and  your 
taste  too.  How  you  can  love  such  a  man  I  cannot  tell,  or 
what  pleasure  you  can  find  in  his  company ;  for  •"  what 
fellowship  hath  light  with  darkness ;  or  he  that  believeth  with 
an  infidel  ? ' 

'  He  is  not  an  infidel ; — and  I  am  not  light,  and  he  is  not 
darkness ;  his  worst  and  only  vice  is  thoughtlessness.' 


178  THE  TENANT  OF 

'And  thoughtlessness,'  pursued  my  aunt,  'may  lead  to 
every  crime,  and  will  but  poorly  excuse  our  errors  in  the 
sight  of  God.  Mr.  Huntingdon,  I  suppose,  is  not  without 
the  common  faculties  of  men  :  he  is  not  so  light-headed  as  to 
be  irresponsible :  his  Maker  has  endowed  him  with  reason 
and  conscience  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us  ;  the  Scriptures  are 
open  to  him  as  well  as  to  others ; — and  "  if  he  hear  not 
them,  neither  will  he  hear  though  one  rose  from  the  dead." 
And  remember,  Helen,'  continued  she,  solemnly,  ' "  the 
wicked  shall  be  turned  into  hell,  and  they  that  forget  God  !  " 
And  suppose,  even,  that  he  should  continue  to  love  you,  and 
you  him,  and  that  you  should  pass  through  life  together 
with  tolerable  comfort — how  will  it  be  in  the  end,  when  you 
see  yourselves  parted  for  ever;  you,  perhaps,  taken  into 
eternal  bliss,  and  he  cast  into  the  lake  that  burneth  with 
unquenchable  fire — there  for  ever  to ' 

'  Not  for  ever,'  I  exclaimed,  '  "  only  till  he  has  paid  the 
uttermost  farthing ;  "  for  "  if  any  man's  work  abide  not  the 
fire,  he  shall  suffer  loss,  yet  himself  shall  be  saved,  but  so  as 
by  fire  ;  "  and  He  that  "  is  able  to  subdue  all  things  to  Him- 
self will  have  all  men  to  be  saved,"  and  "will,  in  the 
fulness  of  time,  gather  together  in  one  all  things  in  Christ 
Jesus,  who  tasted  death  for  every  man,  and  in  whom  God 
will  reconcile  all  things  to  Himself,  whether  they  be  things 
in  earth  or  things  in  heaven."  ' 

'  Oh,  Helen  !  where  did  you  learn  all  this  ? ' 

'  In  the  Bible,  aunt.  I  have  searched  it  through,  and 
found  nearly  thirty  passages,  all  tending  to  support  the  same 
theory.' 

'  And  is  that  the  use  you  make  of  your  Bible  ?  And  did 
you  find  no  passages  tending  to  prove  the  danger  and  the 
falsity  of  such  a  belief  ?  ' 

'  No :  I  found,  indeed,  some  passages  that,  taken  by 
themselves,  might  seem  to  contradict  that  opinion ;  but  they 
will  all  bear  a  different  construction  to  that  which  is 
commonly  given,  and  in  most  the  only  difficulty  is  in  the 
word  which  we  translate  "everlasting"  or  "eternal."  I 


WILDFELL  HALL  179 

don't  know  the  Greek,  but  I  believe  it  strictly  means  for 
ages,  and  might  signify  either  endless  or  long-enduring. 
And  as  for  the  danger  of  the  belief,  I  would  not  publish  it 
abroad  if  I  thought  any  poor  wretch  would  be  likely  to 
presume  upon  it  to  his  own  destruction,  but  it  is  a  glorious 
thought  to  cherish  in  one's  own  heart,  and  I  would  not  part 
with  it  for  all  the  world  can  give ! ' 

Here  our  conference  ended,  for  it  was  now  high  time  to 
prepare  for  church.  Every  one  attended  the  morning 
service,  except  my  uncle,  who  hardly  ever  goes,  and  Mr. 
Wilmot,  who  stayed  at  home  with  him  to  enjoy  a  quiet 
game  of  cribbage.  In  the  afternoon  Miss  Wilmot  and  Lord 
Lowborough  likewise  excused  themselves  from  attending; 
but  Mr.  Huntingdon  vouchsafed  to  accompany  us  again. 
Whether  it  was  to  ingratiate  himself  with  my  aunt  I  cannot 
tell,  but,  if  so,  he  certainly  should  have  behaved  better.  I 
must  confess,  I  did  not  like  his  conduct  during  service  at  all. 
Holding  his  prayer-book  upside  down,  or  open  at  any  place 
but  the  right,  he  did  nothing  but  stare  about  him,  unless  he 
happened  to  catch  my  aunt's  eye  or  mine,  and  then  he 
would  drop  his  own  on  his  book,  with  a  puritanical  air  of 
mock  solemnity  that  would  have  been  ludicrous,  if  it  had  not 
been  too  provoking.  Once,  during  the  sermon,  after 
attentively  regarding  Mr.  Leighton  for  a  few  minutes,  he 
suddenly  produced  his  gold  pencil-case  and  snatched  up  a 
Bible.  Perceiving  that  I  observed  the  movement,  he 
whispered  that  he  was  going  to  make  a  note  of  the  sermon  ; 
but  instead  of  that,  as  I  sat  next  him,  I  could  not  help 
seeing  that  he  was  making  a  caricature  of  the  preacher, 
giving  to  the  respectable,  pious,  elderly  gentleman,  the  air 
and  aspect  of  a  most  absurd  old  hypocrite.  And  yet,  upon 
his  return,  he  talked  to  my  aunt  about  the  sermon  with  a 
degree  of  modest,  serious  discrimination  that  tempted  me  to 
believe  he  had  really  attended  to  and  profited  by  the  discourse. 

Just  before  dinner  my  uncle  called  me  into  the  library  for 
the  discussion  of  a  very  important  matter,  which  was 
dismissed  in  few  words. 


180  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  Now,  Nell,'  said  he,  '  this  young  Huntingdon  has  been 
asking  for  you :  what  must  I  say  about  it  ?  Your  aunt 
would  answer  "  no  " — but  what  say  you  ? ' 

'  I  say  yes,  uncle/  replied  I,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation  ;  for  I  had  thoroughly  made  up  my  mind  on  the 
subject. 

I  Very  good ! '    cried  he.     '  Now  that's  a  good  honest 
answer — wonderful    for  a  girl ! — Well,   I'll  write   to  your 
father  to-morrow.     He's  sure  to  give  his  consent ;   so  you 
may  look  on  the  matter  as  settled.     You'd  have  done  a  deal 
better  if  you'd  taken  Wilmot,  I  can  tell  you ;  but  that  you 
won't  believe.    At  your  time  of  life,  it's  love  that  rules  the 
roast :  at  mine,  it's  solid,  serviceable  gold.     I  suppose  now, 
you'd  never  dream  of  looking  into  the  state  of  your  husband's 
finances,   or  troubling    your    head    about    settlements,    or 
anything  of  that  sort  ? ' 

I 1  don't  think  I  should.' 

'Well,  be  thankful,  then,  that  you've  wiser  heads  to 
think  for  you.  I  haven't  had  time,  yet,  to  examine 
thoroughly  into  this  young  rascal's  affairs,  but  I  see  that  a 
great  part  of  his  father's  fine  property  has  been  squandered 
away ; — but  still,  I  think,  there's  a  pretty  fair  share  of  it  left, 
and  a  little  careful  nursing  may  make  a  handsome  thing  of 
it  yet ;  and  then  we  must  persuade  your  father  to  give  you  a 
decent  fortune,  as  he  has  only  one  besides  yourself  to  care 
for ; — and,  if  you  behave  well,  who  knows  but  what  I  may  be 
induced  to  remember  you  in  my  will ! '  continued  he,  putting 
his  fingers  to  his  nose,  with  a  knowing  wink. 

'  Thanks,  uncle,  for  that  and  all  your  kindness,'  replied  I. 

'  Well,  and  I  questioned  this  young  spark  on  the  matter 
of  settlements/  continued  he ;  '  and  he  seemed  disposed  to 
be  generous  enough  on  that  point ' 

'  I  knew  he  would  ! '  said  I.  '  But  pray  don't  trouble 
your  head — or  his,  or  mine  about  that ;  for  all  I  have  will  be 
his,  and  all  he  has  will  be  mine ;  and  what  more  could 
either  of  us  require  ?  '  And  I  was  about  to  make  my  exit, 
but  he  called  me  back. 


WILDFELL  HALL  181 

'  Stop,  stop ! '  cried  he  ;  'we  haven't  mentioned  the  time 
yet.  When  must  it  be  ?  Your  aunt  would  put  it  off  till  the 
Lord  knows  when,  but  he  is  anxious  to  be  bound  as  soon  as 
may  be  :  he  won't  hear  of  waiting  beyond  next  month  ;  and 
you,  I  guess,  will  be  of  the  same  mind,  so ' 

'Not  at  all,  uncle ;  on  the  contrary,  I  should  like  to  wait 
till  after  Christmas,  at  least.' 

'  Oh  !  pooh,  pooh  !  never  tell  me  that  tale — I  know  better,' 
cried  he  ;  and  he  persisted  in  his  incredulity.  Nevertheless, 
it  is  quite  true.  I  am  in  no  hurry  at  all.  How  can  I  be, 
when  I  think  of  the  momentous  change  that  awaits  me,  and 
of  all  I  have  to  leave  ?  It  is  happiness  enough  to  know  that 
we  are  to  be  united ;  and  that  he  really  loves  me,  and  I  may 
love  him  as  devotedly,  and  think  of  him  as  often  as  I  please. 
However,  I  insisted  upon  consulting  my  aunt  about  the  time 
of  the  wedding,  for  I  determined  her  counsels  should  not  be 
utterly  disregarded ;  and  no  conclusions  on  that  particular 
are  come  to  yet. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

OCTOBER  IST. — All  is  settled  now.  My  father  has  given  his 
consent,  and  the  time  is  fixed  for  Christmas,  by  a  sort  of 
compromise  between  the  respective  advocates  for  hurry  and 
delay.  Milicent  Hargrave  is  to  be  one  bridesmaid  and 
Annabella  Wilmot  the  other — not  that  I  am  particularly 
fond  of  the  latter,  but  she  is  an  intimate  of  the  family,  and  I 
have  not  another  friend. 

When  I  told  Milicent  of  my  engagement,  she  rather  pro- 
voked me  by  her  manner  of  taking  it.  After  staring  a 
moment  in  mute  surprise,  she  said, — '  Well,  Helen,  I  suppose 
I  ought  to  congratulate  you — and  I  am  glad  to  see  you  so 
happy ;  but  I  did  not  think  you  would  take  him  ;  and  I  can't 
help  feeling  surprised  that  you  should  like  him  so  much.' 

'  Why  so  ?  ' 

1  Because  you  are  so  superior  to  him  in  every  way,  and 
there's  something  so  bold  and  reckless  about  him — so,  I 
don't  know  how — but  I  always  feel  a  wish  to  get  out  of  his 
way  when  I  see  him  approach.' 

'  You  are  timid,  Milicent ;  but  that's  no  fault  of  his.' 

'  And  then  his  look,'  continued  she.  '  People  say  he's 
handsome,  and  of  course  he  is  ;  but  I  don't  like  that  kind  of 
beauty,  and  I  wonder  that  you  should.' 

'  Why  so,  pray  ?  ' 

'  Well,  you  know,  I  think  there's  nothing  noble  or  lofty 
in  his  appearance.' 

4  In  fact,  you  wonder  that  I  can  like  any  one  so  unlike 
the  stilted  heroes  of  romance.  Well,  give  me  my  flesh  and 


WILDFELL  HALL  183 

blood  lover,  and  I'll  leave  all  the  Sir  Herberts  and  Valentines 
to  you — if  you  can  find  them.' 

'I  don't  want  them,'  said  she.  'I'll  be  satisfied  with 
flesh  and  blood  too — only  the  spirit  must  shine  through  and 
predominate.  But  don't  you  think  Mr.  Huntingdon's  face  is 
too  red  ? ' 

'  No ! '  cried  I,  indignantly.  '  It  is  not  red  at  all.  There 
is  just  a  pleasant  glow,  a  healthy  freshness  in  his  com- 
plexion— the  warm,  pinky  tint  of  the  whole  harmonising 
with  the  deeper  colour  of  the  cheeks,  exactly  as  it  ought  to  do. 
I  hate  a  man  to  be  red  and  white,  like  a  painted  doll,  or  all 
sickly  white,  or  smoky  black,  or  cadaverous  yellow.' 

'  Well,  tastes  differ — but  I  like  pale  or  dark,'  replied  she* 
'But,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Helen,  I  had  been  deluding 
myself  with  the  hope  that  you  would  one  day  be  my  sister. 
I  expected  Walter  would  be  introduced  to  you  next  season  ; 
and  I  thought  you  would  like  him,  and  was  certain  he  would 
like  you ;  and  I  flattered  myself  I  should  thus  have  the 
felicity  of  seeing  the  two  persons  I  like  best  in  the  world — 
except  mamma — united  in  one.  He  mayn't  be  exactly  what 
you  would  call  handsome,  but  he's  far  more  distinguished- 
looking,  and  nicer  and  better  than  Mr.  Huntingdon ; — and 
I'm  sure  you  would  say  so,  if  you  knew  him.' 

'  Impossible,  Milicent !  You  think  so,  because  you're  his 
sister ;  and,  on  that  account,  I'll  forgive  you ;  but  nobody 
else  should  so  disparage  Arthur  Huntingdon  to  me  with 
impunity.' 

Miss  Wilmot  expressed  her  feelings  on  the  subject 
almost  as  openly. 

'  And  so,  Helen,'  said  she,  coming  up  to  me  with  a  smile 
of  no  amiable  import,  '  you  are  to  be  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  I 
suppose  ? ' 

'  Yes,'  replied  I.     '  Don't  you  envy  me  ? ' 

'  Oh,  dear,  no ! '  she  exclaimed.  '  I  shall  probably  be 
Lady  Lowborough  some  day,  and  then  you  know,  dear,  I 
shall  be  in  a  capacity  to  inquire,  "  Don't  you  envy  me  ?  " 

'  Henceforth  I  shall  envy  no  one,'  returned  I. 


184  THE   TENANT  OF 

'  Indeed  !  Are  you  so  happy  then  ?  '  said  she,  thought- 
fully ;  and  something  very  like  a  cloud  of  disappointment 
shadowed  her  face.  '  And  does  he  love  you — I  mean,  does 
he  idolise  you  as  much  as  you  do  him  ? '  she  added,  fixing 
her  eyes  upon  me  with  ill-disguised  anxiety  for  the  reply. 

'  I  don't  want  to  be  idolised,'  I  answered  ;  '  but  I  am  well 
assured  that  he  loves  me  more  than  anybody  else  in  the 
world — as  I  do  him.' 

'  Exactly,'  said  she,  with  a  nod.     '  I  wish — '  she  paused. 

'  What  do  you  wish  ?  '  asked  I,  annoyed  at  the  vindictive 
expression  of  her  countenance. 

'  I  wish,'  returned  she,  with  a  short  laugh,  '  that  all  the 
attractive  points  and  desirable  qualifications  of  the  two 
gentlemen  were  united  in  one — that  Lord  Lowborough  had 
Huntingdon's  handsome  face  and  good  temper,  and  all  his 
wit,  and  mirth  and  charm,  or  else  that  Huntingdon  had 
Lowborough's  pedigree,  and  title,  and  delightful  old  family 
seat,  and  -I  had  him ;  and  you  might  have  the  other  and 
welcome.' 

'  Thank  you,  dear  Annabella :  I  am  better  satisfied  with 
things  as  they  are,  for  my  own  part ;  and  for  you,  I  wish  you 
were  as  well  content  with  your  intended  as  I  am  with  mine,' 
said  I ;  and  it  was  true  enough ;  for,  though  vexed  at  first 
at  her  unamiable  spirit,  her  frankness  touched  me,  and  the 
contrast  between  our  situations  was  such,  that  I  could  well 
afford  to  pity  her  and  wish  her  well. 

Mr.  Huntingdon's  acquaintances  appear  to  be  no  better 
pleased  with  our  approaching  union  than  mine.  This 
morning's  post  brought  him  letters  from  several  of  his 
friends,  during  the  perusal  of  which,  at  the  breakfast-table, 
he  excited  the  attention  of  the  company  by  the  singular 
variety  of  his  grimaces.  But  he  crushed  them  all  into  his 
pocket,  with  a  private  laugh,  and  said  nothing  till  the  meal 
was  concluded.  Then,  while  the  company  were  hanging 
over  the  fire  or  loitering  through  the  room,  previous  to 
settling  to  their  various  morning  avocations,  he  came  and 
leant  over  the  back  of  my  chair,  with  his  face  in  contact 


WILDFELL  HALL  185 

with  my  curls,  and  commencing  with  a  quiet  little  kiss, 
poured  forth  the  following  complaints  into  my  ear : — 

'Helen,  you  witch,  do  you  know  that  you've  entailed 
upon  me  the  curses  of  all  my  friends  ?  I  wrote  to  them  the 
other  day,  to  tell  them  of  my  happy  prospects,  and  now, 
instead  of  a  bundle  of  congratulations,  I've  got  a  pocketful 
of  bitter  execrations  and  reproaches.  There's  not  one  kind 
wish  for  me,  or  one  good  word  for  you,  among  them  all. 
They  say  there'll  be  no  more  fun  now,  no  more  merry  days 
and  glorious  nights — and  all  my  fault — I  am  the  first  to 
break  up  the  jovial  band,  and  others,  in  pure  despair,  will 
follow  my  example.  I  was  the  very  life  and  prop  of  the 
community,  they  do  me  the  honour  to  say,  and  I  have 
shamefully  betrayed  my  trust ' 

'  You  may  join  them  again,  if  you  like,'  said  I,  somewhat 
piqued  at  the  sorrowful  tone  of  his  discourse.  '  I  should  be 
sorry  to  stand  between  any  man — or  body  of  men,  and  so 
much  happiness ;  and  perhaps  I  can  manage  to  do  without 
you,  as  well  as  your  poor  deserted  friends.' 

'  Bless  you,  no,'  murmured  he.  '  It's  "  all  for  love  or  the 
world  well  lost,"  with  me.  Let  them  go  to — where  they 
belong,  to  speak  politely.  But  if  you  saw  how  they  abuse 
me,  Helen,  you  would  love  me  all  the  more  for  having 
ventured  so  much  for  your  sake.' 

He  pulled  out  his  crumpled  letters.  I  thought  he  was 
going  to  show  them  to  me,  and  told  him  I  did  not  wish  to 
see  them. 

'  I'm  not  going  to  show  them  to  you,  love,'  said  he. 
'  They're  hardly  fit  for  a  lady's  eyes — the  most  part  of  them. 
But  look  here.  This  is  Grimsby's  scrawl — only  three  lines, 
the  sulky  dog  !  He  doesn't  say  much,  to  be  sure,  but  his 
very  silence  implies  more  than  all  the  others'  words,  and  the 
less  he  says,  the  more  he  thinks — and  this  is  Hargrave's 
missive.  He  is  particularly  grieved  at  me,  because,  forsooth, 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  you  from  his  sister's  reports,  and 
meant  to  have  married  you  himself,  as  soon  as  he  had  sown 
his  wild  oats.' 


186  THE  TENANT  OF 

1  I'm  vastly  obliged  to  him,'  observed  I. 

'  And  so  am  I,'  said  he.  '  And  look  at  this.  This  is 
Hattersley's — every  page  stuffed  full  of  railing  accusations, 
bitter  curses,  and  lamentable  complaints,  ending  up  with 
swearing  that  he'll  get  married  himself  in  revenge:  he'l 
throw  himself  away  on  the  first  old  maid  that  chooses  to  set 
her  cap  at  him, — as  if  I  cared  what  he  did  with  himself.' 

'  Well,'  said  I,  '  if  you  do  give  up  your  intimacy  with 
these  men,  I  don't  think  you  will  have  much  cause  to  regret 
the  loss  of  their  society ;  for  it's  my  belief  they  never  did  you 
much  good.' 

1  Maybe  not ;  but  we'd  a  merry  time  of  it,  too,  though 
mingled  with  sorrow  and  pain,  as  Lowborough  knows  to  his 
cost — Ha,  ha  ! '  and  while  he  was  laughing  at  the  recollection 
of  Lowborough's  troubles,  my  uncle  came  and  slapped  him 
on  the  shoulder. 

1  Come,  my  lad  ! '  said  he.  '  Are  you  too  busy  making 
love  to  my  niece  to  make  war  with  the  pheasants  ? — First  of 
October,  remember!  Sun  shines  out — rain  ceased — even 
Boarham's  not  afraid  to  venture  in  his  waterproof  boots  ;  and 
Wilmot  and  I  are  going  to  beat  you  all.  I  declare,  we  old 
'uns  are  the  keenest  sportsmen  of  the  lot ! ' 

'  I'll  show  you  what  I  can  do  to-day,  however,'  said  my 
companion.  '  I'll  murder  your  birds  by  wholesale,  just  for 
keeping  me  away  from  better  company  than  either  you  or 
them.' 

And  so  saying  he  departed  ;  and  I  saw  no  more  of  him 
till  dinner.  It  seemed  a  weary  time ;  I  wonder  what  I  shall 
do  without  him. 

It  is  very  true  that  the  three  elder  gentlemen  have  proved 
themselves  much  keener  sportsmen  than  the  two  younger 
ones ;  for  both  Lord  Lowborough  and  Arthur  Huntingdon 
have  of  late  almost  daily  neglected  the  shooting  excursions 
to  accompany  us  in  our  various  rides  and  ramblee.  But 
these  merry  times  are  fast  drawing  to  a  close.  In  less  than 
a  fortnight  the  party  break  up,  much  to  my  sorrow,  for  every 
day  I  enjoy  it  more  and  more — now  that  Messrs.  Boarham 


WILDFBLL  HALL  187 

and  Wilmot  have  ceased  to  tease  me,  and  my  aunt  has 
ceased  to  lecture  me,  and  I  have  ceased  to  be  jealous  of  Anna- 
bella — and  even  to  dislike  her — and  now  that  Mr.  Huntingdon 
is  become  my  Arthur,  and  I  may  enjoy  his  society  without 
restraint.  What  shall  I  do  without  him,  I  repeat  ? 


CHAPTER  XXII 

OCTOBER  STH. — My  cup  of  sweets  is  not  unmingled  :  it  is 
dashed  with  a  bitterness  that  I  cannot  hide  from  myself, 
disguise  it  as  I  will.  I  may  try  to  persuade  myself  that  the 
sweetness  overpowers  it ;  I  may  call  it  a  pleasant  aromatic 
flavour ;  but  say  what  I  will,  it  is  still  there,  and  I  cannot 
but  taste  it.  I  cannot  shut  my  eyes  to  Arthur's  faults  ;  and 
the  more  I  love  him  the  more  they  trouble  me.  His  very 
heart,  that  I  trusted  so,  is,  I  fear,  less  warm  and  generous 
than  I  thought  it.  At  least,  he  gave  me  a  specimen  of  his 
character  to-day  that  seemed  to  merit  a  harder  name  than 
thoughtlessness.  He  and  Lord  Lowborough  were  accom- 
panying Annabella  and  me  in  a  long,  delightful  ride ;  he 
was  riding  by  my  side,  as  usual,  and  Annabella  and  Lord 
Lowborough  were  a  little  before  us,  the  latter  bending  towards 
his  companion  as  if  in  tender  and  confidential  discourse. 

'  Those  two  will  get  the  start  of  us,  Helen,  if  we  don't 
look  sharp,'  observed  Huntingdon.  '  They'll  make  a  match 
of  it,  as  sure  as  can  be.  That  Lowborough's  fairly  besotted. 
But  he'll  find  himself  in  a  fix  when  he's  got  her,  I  doubt.' 

'  And  she'll  find  herself  in  a  fix  when  she's  got  him,'  said 
I,  '  if  what  I've  heard  of  him  is  true.' 

'  Not  a  bit  of  it.  She  knows  what  she's  about ;  but  he, 
poor  fool,  deludes  himself  with  the  notion  that  she'll  make 
him  a  good  wife,  and  because  she  has  amused  him  with  some 
rodomontade  about  despising  rank  and  wealth  in  matters  of 
love  and  marriage,  he  flatters  himself  that  she's  devotedly 
attached  to  him  ;  that  she  will  not  refuse  him  for  his  poverty, 
and  does  not  court  him  for  his  rank,  but  loves  him  for  himself 
alone.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  189 

'  But  is  not  he  courting  her  for  her  fortune  ? ' 
'  No,  not  he.  That  was  the  first  attraction,  certainly ;  but 
now  he  has  quite  lost  sight  of  it :  it  never  enters  his  calcu- 
lations, except  merely  as  an  essential  without  which,  for  the 
lady's  own  sake,  he  could  not  think  of  marrying  her.  No  ; 
he's  fairly  in  love.  He  thought  he  never  could  be  again,  but 
he's  in  for  it  once  more.  He  was  to  have  been  married  before, 
some  two  or  three  years  ago ;  but  he  lost  his  bride  by  losing 
his  fortune.  He  got  into  a  bad  way  among  us  in  London  : 
he  had  an  unfortunate  taste  for  gambling ;  and  surely  the 
fellow  was  born  under  an  unlucky  star,  for  he  always  lost 
thrice  where  he  gained  once.  That's  a  mode  of  self-torment 
I  never  was  much  addicted  to.  When  I  spend  my  money  I 
like  to  enjoy  the  full  value  of  it :  I  see  no  fun  in  wasting  it 
on  thieves  and  blacklegs ;  and  as  for  gaining  money,  hitherto 
I  have  always  had  sufficient ;  it's  time  enough  to  be  clutching 
for  more,  I  think,  when  you  begin  to  see  the  end  of  what  you 
have.  But  I  have  sometimes  frequented  the  gaming-houses 
just  to  watch  the  on-goings  of  those  mad  votaries  of  chance — 
a  very  interesting  study,  I  assure  you,  Helen,  and  sometimes 
very  diverting  :  I've  had  many  a  laugh  at  the  boobies  and 
bedlamites.  Lowborough  was  quite  infatuated — not  willingly, 
but  of  necessity, — he  was  always  resolving  to  give  it  up,  and 
always  breaking  his  resolutions.  Every  venture  was  the  '  just 
once  more  : '  if  he  gained  a  little,  he  hoped  to  gain  a  little 
more  next  time,  and  if  he  lost,  it  would  not  do  to  leave  off  at 
that  juncture  ;  he  must  go  on  till  he  had  retrieved  that  last 
misfortune,  at  least :  bad  luck  could  not  last  for  ever ;  and 
every  lucky  hit  was  looked  upon  as  the  dawn  of  better  times, 
till  experience  proved  the  contrary.  At  length  he  grew 
desperate,  and  we  were  daily  on  the  look-out  for  a  case  of 
felo-de-se — no  great  matter,  some  of  us  whispered,  as  his 
existence  had  ceased  to  be  an  acquisition  to  our  club.  At 
last,  however,  he  came  to  a  check.  He  made  a  large  stake, 
which  he  determined  should  be  the  last,  whether  he  lost  or 
won.  He  had  often  so  determined  before,  to  be  sure,  and  as 
often  broken  his  determination ;  and  so  it  was  this  time.  He 


190  THE   TENANT   OF 

lost;  and  while  his  antagonist  smilingly  swept  away  the 
stakes,  he  turned  chalky  white,  drew  back  in  silence,  and 
wiped  his  forehead.  I  was  present  at  the  time  ;  and  while 
he  stood  with  folded  arms  and  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  I 
knew  well  enough  what  was  passing  in  his  mind. 

'  "  Is  it  to  be  the  last,  Lowborough  ?  "  said  I,  stepping  up 
to  him. 

'  "  The  last  but  one,"  he  answered,  with  a  grim  smile ; 
and  then,  rushing  back  to  the  table,  he  struck  his  hand  upon 
it,  and,  raising  his  voice  high  above  all  the  confusion  of 
jingling  coins  and  muttered  oaths  and  curses  in  the  room, 
he  swore  a  deep  and  solemn  oath  that,  come  what  would, 
this  trial  should  be  the  last,  and  imprecated  unspeakable 
curses  on  his  head  if  ever  he  should  shuffle  a  card  or  rattle 
a  dice-box  again.  He  then  doubled  his  former  stake,  and 
challenged  any  one  present  to  play  against  him.  Grimsby 
instantly  presented  himself.  Lowborough  glared  fiercely  at 
him,  for  Grimsby  was  almost  as  celebrated  for  his  luck  as  he 
was  for  his  ill-fortune.  However,  they  fell  to  work.  But 
Grimsby  had  much  skill  and  little  scruple,  and  whether  he 
took  advantage  of  the  other's  trembling,  blinded  eagerness  to 
deal  unfairly  by  him,  I  cannot  undertake  to  say ;  but 
Lowborough  lost  again,  and  fell  dead  sick. 

'"You'd  better  try  once  more,"  said  Grimsby,  leaning 
across  the  table.  And  then  he  winked  at  me. 

'  "  I've  nothing  to  try  with,"  said  the  poor  devil,  with  a 
ghastly  smile. 

'  "  Oh,  Huntingdon  will  lend  you  what  you  want,"  said 
the  other. 

'  "  No ;  you  heard  my  oath,"  answered  Lowborough, 
turning  away  in  quiet  despair.  And  I  took  him  by  the  arm 
and  led  him  out. 

'  "  Is  it  to  be  the  last,  Lowborough  ?  "  I  asked,  when  I 
got  him  into  the  street. 

'  "  The  last,"  he  answered,  somewhat  against  my  expecta- 
tion. And  I  took  him  home — that  is,  to  our  club — for  he 
was  as  submissive  as  a  child — and  plied  him  with  brandy-and 


WILDFELL  HALL  191 

water  till  he  began  to  look  rather  brighter — rather  more  alive, 
at  least. 

'  "  Huntingdon,  I'm  ruined  !  "  said  he,  taking  the  third 
glass  from  my  hand — he  had  drunk  the  others  in  dead  silence. 

'  "  Not  you,"  said  I.  "  You'll  find  a  man  can  live  with- 
out his  money  as  merrily  as  a  tortoise  without  its  head,  or  a 
wasp  without  its  body. 

'  "  But  I'm  in  debt,"  said  he — "  deep  in  debt.  And  I  can 
never,  never  get  out  of  it." 

'  "  Well,  what  of  that  ?  Many  a  better  man  than  you  has 
lived  and  died  in  debt ;  and  they  can't  put  you  in  prison,  you 
know,  because  you're  a  peer."  And  I  handed  him  his  fourth 
tumbler. 

'  "  But  I  hate  to  be  in  debt !  "  he  shouted.  "  I  wasn't 
born  for  it,  and  I  cannot  bear  it." 

'  "  What  can't  be  cured  must  be  endured,"  said  I,  beginning 
to  mix  the  fifth. 

'  "  And  then,  I've  lost  my  Caroline."  And  he  began  to 
snivel  then,  for  the  brandy  had  softened  his  heart. 

'  "  No  matter,"  I  answered,  "  there  are  more  Carolines  in 
the  world  than  one." 

'  "  There's  only  one  for  me,"  he  replied,  with  a  dolorous 
sigh.  "  And  if  there  were  fifty  more,  who's  to  get  them, 
I  wonder,  without  money  ?  " 

'  "  Oh,  somebody  will  take  you  for  your  title  ;  and  then 
you've  your  family  estate  yet ;  that's  entailed,  you  know." 

' "  I  wish  to  God  I  could  sell  it  to  pay  my  debts,"  he 
muttered. 

'  "  And  then,"  said  Grimsby,  who  had  just  come  in,  "  you 
can  try  again,  you  know.  I  would  have  more  than  one 
chance,  if  I  were  you.  I'd  never  stop  here." 

'  "  I  won't,  I  tell  you !  "  shouted  he.  And  he  started  up, 
and  left  the  room — walking  rather  unsteadily,  for  the  liquor 
had  got  into  his  head.  He  was  not  so  much  used  to  it  then, 
but  after  that  he  took  to  it  kindly  to  solace  his  cares. 

'  He  kept  his  oath  about  gambling  (not  a  little  to  the  sur- 
prise of  us  all),  though  Grimsby  did  his  utmost  to  tempt  him 


192  THE   TENANT   OF 

to  break  it ;  but  now  he  had  got  hold  of  another  habit  that 
bothered  him  nearly  as  much,  for  he  soon  discovered  that  the 
demon  of  drink  was  as  black  as  the  demon  of  play,  and  nearly 
as  hard  to  get  rid  of — especially  as  his  kind  friends  did  all 
they  could  to  second  the  promptings  of  his  own  insatiable 
cravings.' 

'  Then,  they  were  demons  themselves,'  cried  I,  unable  to 
contain  my  indignation.  '  And  you,  Mr.  Huntingdon,  it 
seems,  were  the  first  to  tempt  him.' 

'  Well,  what  could  we  do  ?  '  replied  he,  deprecatingly. — 
'  We  meant  it  in  kindness — we  couldn't  bear  to  see  the  poor 
fellow  so  miserable : — and  besides,  he  was  such  a  damper  upon 
us,  sitting  there  silent  and  glum,  when  he  was  under  the 
threefold  influence  of  the  loss  of  his  sweetheart,  the  loss  of 
his  fortune,  and  the  reaction  of  the  last  night's  debauch ; 
whereas,  when  he  had  something  in  him,  if  he  was  not  merry 
himself,  he  was  an  unfailing  source  of  merriment  to  us. 
Even  Grimsby  could  chuckle  over  his  odd  sayings  :  they 
delighted  him  far  more  than  my  merry  jests,  or  Hattersley's 
riotous  mirth.  But  one  evening,  when  we  were  sitting  over 
our  wine,  after  one  of  our  club  dinners,  and  all  had  been 
hearty  together, — Lowborough  giving  us  mad  toasts,  and 
hearing  our  wild  songs,  and  bearing  a  hand  in  the  applause, 
if  he  did  not  help  us  to  sing  them  himself, — he  suddenly 
relapsed  into  silence,  sinking  his  head  on  his  hand,  and  never 
lifting  his  glass  to  his  lips  ; — but  this  was  nothing  new  ;  so 
we  let  him  alone,  and  went  on  with  our  jollification,  till, 
suddenly  raising  his  head,  he  interrupted  us  in  the  middle  of 
a  roar  of  laughter  by  exclaiming, — '  Gentlemen,  where  is  all 
this  to  end  ? — Will  you  just  tell  me  that  now  ? — Where  is  it 
all  to  end  ?  '  He  rose. 

'  "  A  speech,  a  speech  !  "  shouted  we.  "  Hear,  hear ! 
Lowborough's  going  to  give  us  a  speech  !  " 

'  He  waited  calmly  till  the  thunders  of  applause  and 
jingling  of  glasses  had  ceased,  and  then  proceeded, — "  It's 
only  this,  gentlemen, — that  I  think  we'd  better  go  no  further. 
We'd  better  stop  while  we  can." 


WILDFELL  HALL  193 

'  "  Just  so !  "  cried  Hattersley — 

"  Stop,  poor  sinner,  stop  and  think 

Before  you  further  go, 
No  longer  sport  upon  the  brink 
Of  everlasting  woe." 

' "  Exactly ! "  replied  his  lordship,  with  the  utmost 
gravity.  "  And  if  you  choose  to  visit  the  bottomless  pit,  I 
won't  go  with  you — we  must  part  company,  for  I  swear  I'll 
not  move  another  step  towards  it ! — What's  this  ? '  he  said, 
taking  up  his  glass  of  wine. 

'  "  Taste  it,"  suggested  I. 

' "  This  is  hell  broth  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  renounce  it  for 
ever !  "  And  he  threw  it  out  into  the  middle  of  the  table. 

' "  Fill  again  !  "  said  I,  handing  him  the  bottle — "  and  let 
us  drink  to  your  renunciation." 

' "  It's  rank  poison,"  said  he,  grasping  the  bottle  by  the 
neck,  "  and  I  forswear  it !  I've  given  up  gambling,  and  I'll 
give  up  this  too."  He  was  on  the  point  of  deliberately 
pouring  the  whole  contents  of  the  bottle  on  to  the  table,  but 
Hargrave  wrested  it  from  him.  "  On  you  be  the  curse,  then  !  " 
said  he.  And,  backing  from  the  room,  he  shouted,  "  Fare- 
well, ye  tempters !  "  and  vanished  amid  shouts  of  laughter 
and  applause. 

'  We  expected  him  back  among  us  the  next  day ;  but,  to 
our  surprise,  the  place  remained  vacant :  we  saw  nothing  of 
him  for  a  whole  week ;  and  we  really  began  to  think  he  was 
going  to  keep  his  word.  At  last,  one  evening,  when  we  were 
most  of  us  assembled  together  again,  he  entered,  silent  and 
grim  as  a  ghost,  and  would  have  quietly  slipped  into  his 
usual  seat  at  my  elbow,  but  we  all  rose  to  welcome  him,  and 
several  voices  were  raised  to  ask  what  he  would  have,  and 
several  hands  were  busy  with  bottle  and  glass  to  serve  him ; 
but  I  knew  a  smoking  tumbler  of  brandy-and-water  would 
comfort  him  best,  and  had  nearly  prepared  it,  when  he 
peevishly  pushed  it  away,  saying, — 

' "  Do  let  me  alone,  Huntingdon  !    Do  be  quiet,  all  of  you  ! 


194  THE  TENANT  OP 

I'm  not  come  to  join  you :  I'm  only  come  to  be  with  you 
awhile,  because  I  can't  bear  my  own  thoughts."  And  he 
folded  his  arms,  and  leant  back  in  his  chair ;  so  we  let  him 
be.  But  I  left  the  glass  by  him ;  and,  after  a  while,  Grimsby 
directed  my  attention  towards  it,  by  a  significant  wink  ;  and, 
on  turning  my  head,  I  saw  it  was  drained  to  the  bottom.  He 
made  me  a  sign  to  replenish,  and  quietly  pushed  up  the 
bottle.  I  willingly  complied ;  but  Lowborough  detected  the 
pantomime,  and,  nettled  at  the  intelligent  grins  that  were 
passing  between  us,  snatched  the  glass  from  my  hand,  dashed 
the  contents  of  it  in  Grimsby's  face,  threw  the  empty  tumbler 
at  me,  and  then  bolted  from  the  room.' 

'  I  hope  he  broke  your  head,'  said  I. 

'  No,  love,'  replied  he,  laughing  immoderately  at  the  recol- 
lection of  the  whole  affair  ;  '  he  would  have  done  so, — and 
perhaps,  spoilt  my  face,  too,  but,  providentially,  this  forest  of 
curls '  (taking  off  his  hat,  and  showing  his  luxuriant  chestnut 
locks)  '  saved  my  skull,  and  prevented  the  glass  from  break- 
ing, till  it  reached  the  table.' 

'  After  that,'  he  continued,  '  Lowborough  kept  aloof  from 
us  a  week  or  two  longer.  I  used  to  meet  him  occasionally 
in  the  town  ;  and  then,  as  I  was  too  good-natured  to  resent 
his  unmannerly  conduct,  and  he  bore  no  malice  against  me, 
— he  was  never  unwilling  to  talk  to  me ;  on  the  contrary,  he 
would  cling  to  me,  and  follow  me  anywhere  but  to  the  club, 
and  the  gaming-houses,  and  such-like  dangerous  places  of 
resort — he  was  so  weary  of  his  own  moping,  melancholy  mind. 
At  last,  I  got  him  to  come  in  with  me  to  the  club,  on  condition 
that  I  would  not  tempt  him  to  drink  ;  and,  for  some  time, 
he  continued  to  look  in  upon  us  pretty  regularly  of  an  evening, 
— still  abstaining,  with  wonderful  perseverance,  from  the 
"  rank  poison  "  he  had  so  bravely  forsworn.  But  some  of  our 
members  protested  against  this  conduct.  They  did  not  like 
to  have  him  sitting  there  like  a  skeleton  at  a  feast,  instead  of 
contributing  his  quota  to  the  general  amusement,  casting  a 
cloud  over  all,  and  watching,  with  greedy  eyes,  every  drop 
they  carried  to  their  lips — they  vowed  it  was  not  fair ;  and 


WILDFELL  HALL  195 

some  of  them  maintained  that  he  should  either  be  compelled 
to  do  as  others  did,  or  expelled  from  the  society ;  and  swore 
that,  next  time  he  showed  himself,  they  would  tell  him  as 
much,  and,  if  he  did  not  take  the  warning,  proceed  to  active 
measures.  However,  I  befriended  him  on  this  occasion,  and 
recommended  them  to  let  him  be  for  a  while,  intimating  that, 
with  a  little  patience  on  our  parts,  he  would  soon  come  round 
again.  But,  to  be  sure,  it  was  rather  provoking  ;  for,  though 
he  refused  to  drink  like  an  honest  Christian,  it  was  well 
known  to  me  that  he  kept  a  private  bottle  of  laudanum 
about  him,  which  he  was  continually  soaking  at — or  rather, 
holding  off  and  on  with,  abstaining  one  day  and  exceeding 
the  next — just  like  the  spirits. 

'  One  night,  however,  during  one  of  our  orgies — one  of 
our  high  festivals,  I  mean — he  glided  in,  like  the  ghost  in 
"  Macbeth,"  and  seated  himself,  as  usual,  a  little  back  from  the 
table,  in  the  chair  we  always  placed  for  "  the  spectre," 
whether  it  chose  to  fill  it  or  not.  I  saw  by  his  face  that  he 
was  suffering  from  the  effects  of  an  overdose  of  his  insidious 
comforter ;  but  nobody  spoke  to  him,  and  he  spoke  to  nobody. 
A  few  sidelong  glances,  and  a  whispered  observation,  that "  the 
ghost  was  come,"  was  all  the  notice  he  drew  by  his  appear- 
ance, and  we  went  on  with  our  merry  carousals  as  before,  till 
he  startled  us  all  by  suddenly  drawing  in  his  chair,  and 
leaning  forward  with  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and  exclaiming 
with  portentous  solemnity, — "  Well !  it  puzzles  me  what  you 
can  find  to  be  so  merry  about.  What  you  see  in  life  I  don't 
know — I  see  only  the  blackness  of  darkness,  and  a  fearful 
looking  for  of  judgment  and  fiery  indignation  !  " 

'  All  the  company  simultaneously  pushed  up  their  glasses 
to  him,  and  I  set  them  before  him  in  a  semicircle,  and, 
tenderly  patting  him  on  the  back,  bid  him  drink,  and  he 
would  soon  see  as  bright  a  prospect  as  any  of  us ;  but  he 
pushed  them  back,  muttering, — 

' "  Take  them  away !  I  won't  taste  it,  I  tell  you.  I  won't 
— I  won't !  "  So  I  handed  them  down  again  to  the  owners  ; 
but  I  saw  that  he  followed  them  with  a  glare  of  hungry  regret 


196  THE  TENANT  OF 

as  they  departed.  Then  he  clasped  his  hands  before  his  eyes 
to  shut  out  the  sight,  and  two  minutes  after  lifted  his  head 
again,  and  said,  in  a  hoarse  but  vehement  whisper, — 

'  "  And  yet  I  must !     Huntingdon,  get  me  a  glass  !  " 

'  "  Take  the  bottle,  man  !  "  said  I,  thrusting  the  brandy- 
bottle  into  his  hand — but  stop,  I'm  telling  too  much,' 
muttered  the  narrator,  startled  at  the  look  I  turned  upon 
him.  '  But  no  matter,'  he  recklessly  added,  and  thus  con- 
tinued his  relation  :  '  In  his  desperate  eagerness,  he  seized 
the  bottle  and  sucked  away,  till  he  suddenly  dropped  from 
his  chair,  disappearing  under  the  table  amid  a  tempest  of 
applause.  The  consequence  of  this  imprudence  was  some- 
thing like  an  apoplectic  fit,  followed  by  a  rather  severe  brain 
fever ' 

'  And  what  did  you  think  of  yourself,  sir  ?  '  said  I,  quickly. 

'  Of  course,  I  was  very  penitent,'  he  replied.  '  I  went  to 
see  him  once  or  twice — nay,  twice  or  thrice — or  by'r  lady, 
some  four  times — and  when  he  got  better,  I  tenderly  brought 
him  back  to  the  fold.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  ? ' 

'  I  mean,  I  restored  him  to  the  bosom  of  the  club,  and 
compassionating  the  feebleness  of  his  health  and  extreme 
lowness  of  his  spirits,  I  recommended  him  to  "  take  a  little 
wine  for  his  stomach's  sake,"  and,  when  he  was  sufficiently 
re-established,  to  embrace  the  media-via,  ni-jamais-ni-toujours 
plan — not  to  kill  himself  like  a  fool,  and  not  to  abstain  like 
a  ninny — in  a  word,  to  enjoy  himself  like  a  rational  creature, 
and  do  as  I  did  ;  for,  don't  think,  Helen,  that  I'm  a  tippler ; 
I'm  nothing  at  all  of  the  kind,  and  never  was,  and  never  shall 
be.  I  value  my  comfort  far  too  much.  I  see  that  a  man  can- 
not give  himself  up  to  drinking  without  being  miserable  one- 
half  his  days  and  mad  the  other ;  besides,  I  like  to  enjoy  my 
life  at  all  sides  and  ends,  which  cannot  be  done  by  one  that 
suffers  himself  to  be  the  slave  of  a  single  propensity — and, 
moreover,  drinking  spoils  one's  good  looks,'  he  concluded, 
with  a  most  conceited  smile  that  ought  to  have  provoked  me 
more  than  it  did. 


WILDFELL  HALL  197 

'  And  did  Lord  Lowborough  profit  by  your  advice  ? '  I 
asked. 

'  Why,  yes,  in  a  manner.  For  a  while  he  managed  very 
well ;  indeed,  he  was  a  model  of  moderation  and  prudence — 
something  too  much  so  for  the  tastes  of  our  wild  community ; 
but,  somehow,  Lowborough  had  not  the  gift  of  moderation  : 
if  he  stumbled  a  little  to  one  side,  he  must  go  down  before 
he  could  right  himself :  if  he  overshot  the  mark  one  night, 
the  effects  of  it  rendered  him  so  miserable  the  next  day  that 
he  must  repeat  the  offence  to  mend  it ;  and  so  on  from  day 
to  day,  till  his  clamorous  conscience  brought  him  to  a  stand. 
And  then,  in  his  sober  moments,  he  so  bothered  his  friends 
with  his  remorse,  and  his  terrors  and  woes,  that  they  were 
obliged,  in  self-defence,  to  get  him  to  drown  his  sorrows  in 
wine,  or  any  more  potent  beverage  that  came  to  hand ;  and 
when  his  first  scruples  of  conscience  were  overcome,  he 
would  need  no  more  persuading,  he  would  often  grow  despe- 
rate, and  be  as  great  a  blackguard  as  any  of  them  could  desire 
— but  only  to  lament  his  own  unutterable  wickedness  and 
degradation  the  more  when  the  fit  was  over. 

'At  last,  one  day  when  he  and  I  were  alone  together, 
after  pondering  awhile  in  one  of  his  gloomy,  abstracted  moods, 
with  his  arms  folded  and  his  head  sunk  on  his  breast,  he 
suddenly  woke  up,  and  vehemently  grasping  my  arm,  said, — 

'  "  Huntingdon,  this  won't  •  do  !  I'm  resolved  to  have 
done  with  it." 

' "  What,  are  you  going  to  shoot  yourself  ?  "  said  I. 

'  "  No ;  I'm  going  to  reform." 

'  "  Oh,  that's  nothing  new !  You've  been  going  to  reform 
these  twelve  months  and  more." 

'  "  Yes,  but  you  wouldn't  let  me  ;  and  I  was  such  a  fool  I 
couldn't  live  without  you.  But  now  I  see  what  it  is  that  keeps 
me  back,  and  what's  wanted  to  save  me ;  and  I'd  compass 
sea  and  land  to  get  it — only  I'm  afraid  there's  no  chance. 
And  he  sighed  as  if  his  heart  would  break." 

' "  What  is  it,  Lowborough  ?  "  said  I,  thinking  he  was 
fairly  cracked  at  last. 


198  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  "A  wife,"  he  answered  ;  "  for  I  can't  live  alone,  because 
my  own  mind  distracts  me,  and  I  can't  live  with  you,  because 
you  take  the  devil's  part  against  me." 

'  "  Who 1  ?  " 

'  "  Yes — all  of  you  do — and  you  more  than  any  of  them, 
you  know.  But  if  I  could  get  a  wife,  with  fortune  enough  to 
pay  off  my  debts  and  set  me  straight  in  the  world " 

' "  To  be  sure,"  said  I. 

' "  And  sweetness  and  goodness  enough,"  he  continued, 
"  to  make  home  tolerable,  and  to  reconcile  me  to  myself,  I 
think  I  should  do  yet.  I  shall  never  be  in  love  again,  that's 
certain  ;  but  perhaps  that  would  be  no  great  matter,  it  would 
enable  me  to  choose  with  my  eyes  open — and  I  should  make 
a  good  husband  in  spite  of  it ;  but  could  any  one  be  in  love 
with  me  ? — that's  the  question.  With  your  good  looks  and 
powers  of  fascination  "  (he  was  pleased  to  say),  "  I  might 
hope  ;  but  as  it  is,  Huntingdon,  do  you  think  anybody  would 
take  me — ruined  and  wretched  as  I  am  ?  " 

' "  Yes,  certainly." 

'  "Who?" 

'  "  Why,  any  neglected  old  maid,  fast  sinking  in  despair, 
would  be  delighted  to " 

'"No,  no,"  said  he — "it  must  be  somebody  that  I  can 
love." 

'  "  Why,  you  just  said  you  never  could  be  in  love  again  !  " 

'  "  Well,  love  is  not  the  word — but  somebody  that  I  can 
like.  I'll  search  all  England  through,  at  all  events !  "  he 
cried,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  hope,  or  desperation.  "  Succeed 
or  fail,  it  will  be  better  than  rushing  headlong  to  destruction 

at  that  d d  club :  so  farewell  to  it  and  you.  Whenever 

I  meet  you  on  honest  ground  or  under  a  Christian  roof,  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  you ;  but  never  more  shall  you  entice  me 
to  that  devil's  den  !  " 

'  This  was  shameful  language,  but  I  shook  hands  with  him, 
and  we  parted.  He  kept  his  word ;  and  from  that  time 
forward  he  has  been  a  pattern  of  propriety,  as  far  as  I  can 
tell ;  but  till  lately  I  have  not  had  very  much  to  do  with  him. 


WILDFELL  HALL  199 

He  occasionally  sought  my  company,  but  as  frequently 
shrunk  from  it,  fearing  lest  I  should  wile  him  back  to 
destruction,  and  I  found  his  not  very  entertaining,  especially 
as  he  sometimes  attempted  to  awaken  my  conscience  and  draw 
me  from  the  perdition  he  considered  himself  to  have  escaped ; 
but  when  I  did  happen  to  meet  him,  I  seldom  failed  to  ask 
after  the  progress  of  his  matrimonial  efforts  and  researches, 
and,  in  general,  he  could  give  me  but  a  poor  account.  The 
mothers  were  repelled  by  his  empty  coffers  and  his  reputation 
for  gambling,  and  the  daughters  by  his  cloudy  brow  and 
melancholy  temper — besides,  he  didn't  understand  them ;  he 
wanted  the  spirit  and  assurance  to  carry  his  point. 

'  I  left  him  at  it  when  I  went  to  the  continent ;  and  on  my 
return,  at  the  year's  end,  I  found  him  still  a  disconsolate 
bachelor — though,  certainly,  looking  somewhat  less  like  an 
unblest  exile  from  the  tomb  than  before.  The  young  ladies 
had  ceased  to  be  afraid  of  him,  and  were  beginning  to  think 
him  quite  interesting  ;  but  the  mammas  were  still  unrelenting. 
It  was  about  this  time,  Helen,  that  my  good  angel  brought 
me  into  conjunction  with  you ;  and  then  I  had  eyes  and  ears 
for  nobody  else.  But,  meantime,  Lowborough  became 
acquainted  with  our  charming  friend,  Miss  Wilmot — through 
the  intervention  of  his  good  angel,  no  doubt  he  would  tell 
you,  though  he  did  not  dare  to  fix  his  hopes  on  one  so  courted 
and  admired,  till  after  they  were  brought  into  closer  contact 
here  at  Staningley,  and  she,  in  the  absence  of  her  other 
admirers,  indubitably  courted  his  notice  and  held  out  every 
encouragement  to  his  timid  advances.  Then,  indeed,  he  began 
to  hope  for  a  dawn  of  brighter  days  ;  and  if,  for  a  while,  I 
darkened  his  prospects  by  standing  between  him  and  his 
sun — and  so  nearly  plunged  him  again  into  the  abyss  of 
despair — it  only  intensified  his  ardour  and  strengthened  his 
hopes  when  I  chose  to  abandon  the  field  in  the  pursuit  of  a 
brighter  treasure.  In  a  word,  as  I  told  you,  he  is  fairly 
besotted.  At  first,  he  could  dimly  perceive  her  faults, 
and  they  gave  him  considerable  uneasiness ;  but  now  his 
passion  and  her  art  together  have  blinded  him  to  everything 

8 


200  THE  TENANT  OF 

but  her  perfections  and  his  amazing  good  fortune.     Last  night 
he  came  to  me  brimful  of  his  new-found  felicity  : 

'  "  Huntingdon,  I  am  not  a  castaway !  "  said  he,  seizing 
my  hand  and  squeezing  it  like  a  vice.  "  There  is  happiness 
in  store  for  me  yet — even  in  this  life — she  loves  me !  " 

' "  Indeed  !  "  said  I.    "  Has  she  told  you  so  ?  " 

'  "  No,  but  I  can  no  longer  doubt  it.  Do  you  not  see  how 
pointedly  kind  and  affectionate  she  is  ?  And  she  knows  the 
utmost  extent  of  my  poverty,  and  cares  nothing  about  it ! 
She  knows  all  the  folly  and  all  the  wickedness  of  my  former 
life,  and  is  not  afraid  to  trust  me — and  my  rank  and  title  are 
no  allurements  to  her ;  for  them  she  utterly  disregards.  She 
is  the  most  generous,  high-minded  being  that  can  be 
conceived  of.  She  will  save  me,  body  and  soul,  from  destruc- 
tion. Already,  she  has  ennobled  me  in  my  own  estimation, 
and  made  me  three  times  better,  wiser,  greater  than  I  was. 
Oh !  if  I  had  but  known  her  before,  how  much  degradation  and 
misery  I  should  have  been  spared  !  But  what  have  I  done 
to  deserve  so  magnificent  a  creature  ?  " 

'  And  the  cream  of  the  jest,'  continued  Mr.  Huntingdon, 
laughing,  '  is,  that  the  artful  minx  loves  nothing  about  him 
but  his  title  and  pedigree,  and  "  that  delightful  old  family 
seat."  ' 

'  How  do  you  know  ? '  said  I. 

'  She  told  me  so  herself ;  she  said,  "  As  for  the  man 
himself,  I  thoroughly  despise  him  ;  but  then,  I  suppose,  it  is 
time  to  be  making  my  choice,  and  if  I  waited  for  some  one 
capable  of  eliciting  my  esteem  and  affection,  I  should  have  to 
pass  my  life  in  single  blessedness,  for  I  detest  you  all !  " 
Ha,  ha  !  I  suspect  she  was  wrong  there ;  but,  however,  it  is 
evident  she  has  no  love  for  him,  poor  fellow.' 
'  Then  you  ought  to  tell  him  so.' 

'  What !  and  spoil  all  her  plans  and  prospects,  poor  girl  ? 
No,  no  :  that  would  be  a  breach  of  confidence,  wouldn't  it, 
Helen  ?  Ha,  ha  !  Besides,  it  would  break  his  heart.'  And 
he  laughed  again. 

'  Well,  Mr.   Huntingdon,   I  don't  know  what  you  see 


WILDFELL  HALL  201 

so  amazingly  diverting  in  the  matter ;  I  see  nothing  to 
laugh  at.' 

'  I'm  laughing  at  you,  just  now,  love,'  said  he,  redoubling 
his  machinations. 

And  leaving  him  to  enjoy  his  merriment  alone,  I  touched 
Euby  with  the  whip,  and  cantered  on  to  rejoin  our  com- 
panions ;  for  we  had  been  walking  our  horses  all  this  time,  and 
were  consequently  a  long  way  behind.  Arthur  was  soon  at  my 
side  again  ;  but  not  disposed  to  talk  to  him,  I  broke  into  a 
gallop.  He  did  the  same ;  and  we  did  not  slacken  our  pace 
till  we  came  up  with  Miss  Wilmot  and  Lord  Lowborough, 
which  was  within  half  a  mile  of  the  park-gates.  I  avoided  all 
further  conversation  with  him  till  we  came  to  the  end  of  our 
ride,  when  I  meant  to  jump  off  my  horse  and  vanish  into  the 
house,  before  he  could  offer  his  assistance ;  but  while  I  was 
disengaging  my  habit  from  the  crutch,  he  lifted  me  off,  and 
held  me  by  both  hands,  asserting  that  he  would  not  let  me 
go  till  I  had  forgiven  him. 

'  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,'  said  I.  '  You  have  not 
injured  me.' 

'  No,  darling — God  forbid  that  I  should  !  but  you  are 
angry  because  it  was  to  me  that  Annabella  confessed  her 
lack  of  esteem  for  her  lover.' 

'  No,  Arthur,  it  is  not  that  that  displeases  me :  it  is  the 
whole  system  of  your  conduct  towards  your  friend,  and  if  you 
wish  me  to  forget  it,  go  now,  and  tell  him  what  sort  of  a 
woman  it  is  that  he  adores  so  madly,  and  on  whom  he  has 
hung  his  hopes  of  future  happiness.' 

'  I  tell  you,  Helen,  it  would  break  his  heart — it  would  be 
the  death  of  him — besides  being  a  scandalous  trick  to  poor 
Annabella.  There  is  no  help  for  him  now ;  he  is  past  praying 
for.  Besides,  she  may  keep  up  the  deception  to  the  end  of 
the  chapter ;  and  then  he  will  be  just  as  happy  in  the  illusion 
as  if  it  were  reality;  or  perhaps  he  will  only  discover  his 
mistake  when  he  has  ceased  to  love  her ;  and  if  not,  it  is 
much  better  that  the  truth  should  dawn  gradually  upon  him. 
So  now,  my  angel,  I  hope  I  have  made  out  a  clear  case, 


202  THE  TENANT   OF 

and  fully  convinced  you  that  I  cannot  make  the  atonement 
you  require.  What  other  requisition  have  you  to  make  ? 
Speak,  and  I  will  gladly  obey.' 

'  I  have  none  but  this/  said  I,  as  gravely  as  before  :  '  that, 
in  future,  you  will  never  make  a  jest  of  the  sufferings  of 
others,  and  always  use  your  influence  with  your  friends  for 
their  own  advantage  against  their  evil  propensities,  instead 
of  seconding  their  evil  propensities  against  themselves.' 

1 1  will  do  my  utmost,'  said  he,  '  to  remember  and  perform 
the  injunctions  of  my  angel  monitress  ; '  and  after  kissing 
both  my  gloved  hands,  he  let  me  go. 

When  I  entered  my  room,  I  was  surprised  to  see  Anna- 
bella  Wilmot  standing  before  my  toilet-table,  composedly 
surveying  her  features  in  the  glass,  with  one  hand  flirting 
her  gold-mounted  whip,  and  the  other  holding  up  her  long 
habit. 

'  She  certainly  is  a  magnificent  creature ! '  thought  I,  as 
I  beheld  that  tall,  finely  developed  figure,  and  the  reflection 
of  the  handsome  face  in  the  mirror  before  me,  with  the 
glossy  dark  hair,  slightly  and  not  ungracefully  disordered  by 
the  breezy  ride,  the  rich  brown  complexion  glowing  with 
exercise,  and  the  black  eyes  sparkling  with  unwonted  bril- 
liance. On  perceiving  me,  she  turned  round,  exclaiming, 
with  a  laugh  that  savoured  more  of  malice  than  of  mirth, — 

'  Why,  Helen  !  what  have  you  been  doing  so  long  ?  I 
came  to  tell  you  my  good  fortune,'  she  continued,  regardless 
of  Eachel's  presence.  '  Lord  Lowborough  has  proposed,  and 
I  have  been  graciously  pleased  to  accept  him.  Don't  you 
envy  me,  dear  ? ' 

'  No,  love,'  said  I — '  or  him  either,'  I  mentally  added. 
'  And  do  you  like  him,  Annabella? ' 

'  Like  him !  yes,  to  be  sure — over  head  and  ears  in 
love ! ' 

'  Well,  I  hope  you'll  make  him  a  good  wife.' 

'  Thank  you,  my  dear !     And  what  besides  do  you  hope  ? ' 

'I  hope  you  will  both  love  each  other,  and  both  be 
happy,' 


WILDFELL  HALL  203 

'  Thanks  ;  and  I  hope  you  will  make  a  very  good  wife  to 
Mr.  Huntingdon ! '  said  she,  with  a  queenly  bow,  and 
retired. 

'  Oh,  Miss  !  how  could  you  say  so  to  her ! '  cried  Kachel. 

'  Say  what  ? '  replied  I. 

'  Why,  that  you  hoped  she  would  make  him  a  good  wife. 
I  never  heard  such  a  thing ! ' 

'  Because  I  do  hope  it,  or  rather,  I  wish  it ;  she's  almost 
past  hope.' 

'  Well,'  said  she,  '  I'm  sure  I  hope  he'll  make  her  a  good 
husband.  They  tell  queer  things  about  him  down-stairs. 
They  were  saying ' 

'  I  know,  Kachel.  I've  heard  all  about  him  ;  but  he's 
reformed  now.  And  they  have  no  business  to  tell  tales 
about  their  masters.' 

'No,  mum — or  else,  they  have  said  some  things  about 
Mr.  Huntingdon  too.' 

'  I  won't  hear  them,  Eachel ;  they  tell  lies.' 

'  Yes,  mum,'  said  she,  quietly,  as  she  went  on  arranging 
my  hair. 

'  Do  you  believe  them,  Eachel  ? '  I  asked,  after  a  short 
pause. 

'  No,  Miss,  not  all.  You  know  when  a  lot  of  servants  gets 
together  they  like  to  talk  about  their  betters ;  and  some,  for 
a  bit  of  swagger,  likes  to  make  it  appear  as  though  they  knew 
more  than  they  do,  and  to  throw  out  hints  and  things  just  to 
astonish  the  others.  But  I  think,  if  I  was  you,  Miss  Helen, 
I'd  look  very  well  before  I  leaped.  I  do  believe  a  young  lady 
can't  be  too  careful  who  she  marries.' 

'  Of  course  not,'  said  I ;  '  but  be  quick,  will  you,  Eachel  ? 
I  want  to  be  dressed.' 

And,  indeed,  I  was  anxious  to  be  rid  of  the  good  woman, 
for  I  was  in  such  a  melancholy  frame  I  could  hardly  keep 
the  tears  out  of  my  eyes  while  she  dressed  me.  It  was  not 
for  Lord  Lowborough — it  was  not  for  Annabella — it  was  not 
for  myself — it  was  for  Arthur  Huntingdon  that  they  rose. 


204  THE  TENANT  OF 

13th. — They  are  gone,  and  he  is  gone.  We  are  to  be 
parted  for  more  than  two  months,  above  ten  weeks  !  a  long, 
long  time  to  live  and  not  to  see  him.  But  he  has  promised 
to  write  often,  and  made  me  promise  to  write  still  oftener, 
because  he  will  be  busy  settling  his  affairs,  and  I  shall  have 
nothing  better  to  do.  Well,  I  think  I  shall  always  have 
plenty  to  say.  But  oh !  for  the  time  when  we  shall  be 
always  together,  and  can  exchange  our  thoughts  without  the 
intervention  of  these  cold  go-betweens,  pen,  ink,  and  paper  ! 
****** 

22nd. — I  have  had  several  letters  from  Arthur  already. 
They  are  not  long,  but  passing  sweet,  and  just  like  himself, 
full  of  ardent  affection,  and  playful  lively  humour  ;  but  there 
is  always  a  '  but '  in  this  imperfect  world,  and  I  do  wish  he 
would  sometimes  be  serious.  I  cannot  get  him  to  write  or 
speak  in  real,  solid  earnest.  I  don't  much  mind  it  now,  but 
if  it  be  always  so,  what  shall  I  do  with  the  serious  part  of 
myself  ? 


CHAPTEE  XXIII 

FEB.  18,  1822. — Early  this  morning  Arthur  mounted  his 

hunter  and  set  off  in  high  glee  to  meet  the hounds.  He 

will  be  away  all  day,  and  so  I  will  amuse  myself  with  my 
neglected  diary,  if  I  can  give  that  name  to  such  an  irregular 
composition.  It  is  exactly  four  months  since  I  opened  it 
last. 

I  am  married  now,  and  settled  down  as  Mrs.  Huntingdon 
of  Grassdale  Manor.  I  have  had  eight  weeks'  experience 
of  matrimony.  And  do  I  regret  the  step  I  have  taken  ?  No, 
though  I  must  confess,  in  my  secret  heart,  that  Arthur  is  not 
what  I  thought  him  at  first,  and  if  I  had  known  him  in  the 
beginning  as  thoroughly  as  I  do  now,  I  probably  never 
should  have  loved  him,  and  if  I  loved  him  first,  and  then  made 
the  discovery,  I  fear  I  should  have  thought  it  my  duty  not 
to  have  married  him.  To  be  sure  I  might  have  known  him, 
for  every  one  was  willing  enough  to  tell  me  about  him,  and 
he  himself  was  no  accomplished  hypocrite,  but  I  was  wilfully 
blind ;  and  now,  instead  of  regretting  that  I  did  not  discern  his 
full  character  before  I  was  indissolubly  bound  to  him,  I  am 
glad,  for  it  has  saved  me  a  great  deal  of  battling  with  my 
conscience,  and  a  great  deal  of  consequent  trouble  and  pain ; 
and,  whatever  I  ought  to  have  done,  my  duty  now  is  plainly 
to  love  him  and  to  cleave  to  him,  and  this  just  tallies  with 
my  inclination. 

He  is  very  fond  of  me,  almost  too  fond.  I  could  do  with 
less  caressing  and  more  rationality.  I  should  like  to  be  less 
of  a  pet  and  more  of  a  friend,  if  I  might  choose  ;  but  I  won't 
complain  of  that :  I  am  only  afraid  his  affection  loses  in 


206  THE   TENANT  OF 

depth  where  it  gains  in  ardour.  I  sometimes  liken  it  to  a  fire 
of  dry  twigs  and  branches  compared  with  one  of  solid  coal, 
very  bright  and  hot ;  but  if  it  should  burn  itself  out  and  leave 
nothing  but  ashes  behind,  what  shall  I  do  ?  But  it  won't,  it 
sha'n't,  I  am  determined  ;  and  surely  I  have  power  to  keep  it 
alive.  So  let  me  dismiss  that  thought  at  once.  But  Arthur 
is  selfish ;  I  am  constrained  to  acknowledge  that ;  and, 
indeed,  the  admission  gives  me  less  pain  than  might  be  ex- 
pected, for,  since  I  love  him  so  much,  I  can  easily  forgive 
him  for  loving  himself :  he  likes  to  be  pleased,  and  it  is  my 
delight  to  please  him ;  and  when  I  regret  this  tendency  of 
his,  it  is  for  his  own  sake,  not  for  mine. 

The  first  instance  he  gave  was  on  the  occasion  of  our 
bridal  tour.  He  wanted  to  hurry  it  over,  for  all  the  con- 
tinental scenes  were  already  familiar  to  him :  many  had 
lost  their  interest  in  his  eyes,  and  others  had  never  had  any- 
thing to  lose.  The  consequence  was,  that  after  a  flying 
transit  through  part  of  France  and  part  of  Italy,  I  came 
back  nearly  as  ignorant  as  I  went,  having  made  no  ac- 
quaintance with  persons  and  manners,  and  very  little  with 
things,  my  head  swarming  with  a  motley  confusion  of 
objects  and  scenes ;  some,  it  is  true,  leaving  a  deeper  and 
more  pleasing  impression  than  others,  but  these  embittered 
by  the  recollection  that  my  emotions  had  not  been  shared  by 
my  companion,  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  when  I  had 
expressed  a  particular  interest  in  anything  that  I  saw  or 
desired  to  see,  it  had  been  displeasing  to  him,  inasmuch  as 
it  proved  that  I  could  take  delight  in  anything  disconnected 
with  himself. 

As  for  Paiis,  we  only  just  touched  at  that,  and  he  would 
not  give  me  time  to  see  one-tenth  of  the  beauties  and 
interesting  objects  of  Rome.  He  wanted  to  get  me  home,  he 
said,  to  have  me  all  to  himself,  and  to  see  me  safely  in- 
stalled as  the  mistress  of  Grassdale  Manor,  just  as  single- 
minded,  as  naive,  and  piquante  as  I  was ;  and  as  if  I  had 
been  some  frail  butterfly,  he  expressed  himself  fearful  of 
rubbing  the  silver  off  my  wings  by  bringing  me  into  contact 


BLAKE   HALL— THE   APPROACH   (GRASSDALE   MANOR). 


WILDFELL  HALL  207 

with  society,  especially  that  of  Paris  and  Rome ;  and,  more- 
over, he  did  not  scruple  to  tell  me  that  there  were  ladies  in 
both  places  that  would  tear  his  eyes  out  if  they  happened  to 
meet  him  with  me. 

Of  course  I  was  vexed  at  all  this ;  but  still  it  was  less  the 
disappointment  to  myself  that  annoyed  me,  than  the  disap- 
pointment in  him,  and  the  trouble  I  was  at  to  frame  excuses 
to  my  friends  for  having  seen  and  observed  so  little,  without 
imputing  one  particle  of  blame  to  my  companion.  But  when 
we  got  home — to  my  new,  delightful  home — I  was  so  happy 
and  he  was  so  kind  that  I  freely  forgave  him  all ;  and  I 
was  beginning  to  think  my  lot  too  happy,  and  my  husband 
actually  too  good  for  me,  if  not  too  good  for  this  world, 
when,  on  the  second  Sunday  after  our  arrival,  he  shocked 
and  horrified  me  by  another  instance  of  his  unreasonable 
exaction.  We  were  walking  home  from  the  morning  service, 
for  it  was  a  fine  frosty  day,  and  as  we  are  so  near  the 
church,  I  had  requested  the  carriage  should  not  be  used. 

'  Helen,'  said  he,  with  unusual  gravity,  '  I  am  not  quite 
satisfied  with  you.' 

I  desired  to  know  what  was  wrong. 

'  But  will  you  promise  to  reform  if  I  tell  you  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  if  I  can,  and  without  offending  a  higher  authority. 

'  Ah !  there  it  is,  you  see  :  you  don't  love  me  with  all  your 
heart.' 

'  I  don't  understand  you,  Arthur  (at  least  I  hope  I  don't) : 
pray  tell  me  what  I  have  done  or  said  amiss.' 

'  It  is  nothing  you  have  done  or  said ;  it  is  something 
that  you  are — you  are  too  religious.  Now  I  like  a  woman 
to  be  religious,  and  I  think  your  piety  one  of  your  greatest 
charms;  but  then,  like  all  other  good  things,  it  maybe  carried 
too  far.  To  my  thinking,  a  woman's  religion  ought  not  to 
lessen  her  devotion  to  her  earthly  lord.  She  should  have 
enough  to  purify  and  etherealise  her  soul,  but  not  enough  to 
refine  away  her  heart,  and  raise  her  above  all  human  sym- 
pathies.' 

'  And  am  I  above  all  human  sympathies  ?  '  said  I. 


208  THE   TENANT  OF 

'  No,  darling  ;  but  you  are  making  more  progress  to- 
wards that  saintly  condition  than  I  like ;  for  all  these  two 
hours  I  have  been  thinking  of  you  and  wanting  to  catch  your 
eye,  and  you  were  so  absorbed  in  your  devotions  that  you 
had  not  even  a  glance  to  spare  for  me — I  declare  it  is  enough 
to  make  one  jealous  of  one's  Maker — which  is  very  wrong, 
you  know ;  so  don't  excite  such  wicked  passions  again,  for 
my  soul's  sake.' 

1 1  will  give  my  whole  heart  and  soul  to  my  Maker  if  I 
can,'  I  answered,  '  and  not  one  atom  more  of  it  to  you  than 
He  allows.  "What  are  you,  sir,  that  you  should  set  yourself 
up  as  a  god,  and  presume  to  dispute  possession  of  my  heart 
with  Him  to  whom  I  owe  all  I  have  and  all  I  am,  every 
blessing  I  ever  did  or  ever  can  enjoy — and  yourself  among 
the  rest — if  you  are  a  blessing,  which  I  am  half  inclined  to 
doubt.' 

1  Don't  be  so  hard  upon  me,  Helen  ;  and  don't  pinch  my 
arm  so  :  you  are  squeezing  your  fingers  into  the  bone.' 

'  Arthur,'  continued  I,  relaxing  my  hold  of  his  arm,  '  you 
don't  love  me  half  as  much  as  I  do  you ;  and  yet,  if  you 
loved  me  far  less  than  you  do,  I  would  not  complain,  pro- 
vided you  loved  your  Maker  more.  I  should  rejoice  to  see 
you  at  any  time  so  deeply  absorbed  in  your  devotions  that 
you  had  not  a  single  thought  to  spare  for  me.  But,  indeed,  I 
should  lose  nothing  by  the  change,  for  the  more  you  loved 
your  God  the  more  deep  and  pure  and  true  would  be  your 
love  to  me.' 

At  this  he  only  laughed  and  kissed  my  hand,  calling  me  a 
sweet  enthusiast.  Then  taking  off  his  hat,  he  added :  '  But  look 
here,  Helen — what  can  a  man  do  with  such  a  head  as  this  ?  ' 

The  head  looked  right  enough,  but  when  he  placed  my 
hand  on  the  top  of  it,  it  sunk  in  a  bed  of  curls,  rather 
alarmingly  low,  especially  in  the  middle. 

'  You  see  I  was  not  made  to  be  a  saint,'  said  he,  laughing. 
'  If  God  meant  me  to  be  religious,  why  didn't  He  give  me  a 
proper  organ  of  veneration  ? ' 

'  You  are  like  the  servant,'  I  replied,  '  who,  instead  of 


WILDFELL  HALL  209 

employing  his  one  talent  in  his  master's  service,  restored  it 
to  him  unimproved,  alleging,  as  an  excuse,  that  he  knew  him 
"  to  be  a  hard  man,  reaping  where  he  had  not  sown,  and 
gathering  where  he  had  not  strawed."  Of  him  to  whom  less 
is  given,  less  will  be  required,  but  our  utmost  exertions  are 
required  of  us  all.  You  are  not  without  the  capacity  of 
veneration,  and  faith  and  hope,  and  conscience  and  reason, 
and  every  other  requisite  to  a  Christian's  character,  if  you 
choose  to  employ  them  ;  but  all  our  talents  increase  in  the 
using,  and  every  faculty,  both  good  and  bad,  strengthens  by 
exercise  :  therefore,  if  you  choose  to  use  the  bad,  or  those 
which  tend  to  evil,  till  they  become  your  masters,  and 
neglect  the  good  till  they  dwindle  away,  you  have  only 
yourself  to  blame.  But  you  have  talents,  Arthur — natural 
endowments  both  of  heart  and  mind  and  temper,  such  as 
many  a  better  Christian  would  be  glad  to  possess,  if  you 
would  only  employ  them  in  God's  service.  I  should  never 
expect  to  see  you  a  devotee,  but  it  is  quite  possible  to  be  a 
good  Christian  without  ceasing  to  be  a  happy,  merry -hearted 
man.' 

'  You  speak  like  an  oracle,  Helen,  and  all  you  say  is  in- 
disputably true ;  but  listen  here  :  I  am  hungry,  and  I  see 
before  me  a  good  substantial  dinner ;  I  am  told  that  if  I 
abstain  from  this  to-day  I  shall  have  a  sumptuous  feast  to- 
morrow, consisting  of  all  manner  of  dainties  and  delicacies. 
Now,  in  the  first  place,  I  should  be  loth  to  wait  till  to- 
morrow when  I  have  the  means  of  appeasing  my  hunger 
already  before  me :  in  the  second  place,  the  solid  viands  of 
to-day  are  more  to  my  taste  than  the  dainties  that  are 
promised  me ;  in  the  third  place,  I  don't  see  to-morrow's 
banquet,  and  how  can  I  tell  that  it  is  not  all  a  fable,  got 
up  by  the  greasy-faced  fellow  that  is  advising  me  to  abstain 
in  order  that  he  may  have  all  the  good  victuals  to  himself  ? 
in  the  fourth  place,  this  table  must  be  spread  for  somebody, 
and,  as  Solomon  says,  "Who  can  eat,  or  who  else  can 
hasten  hereunto  more  than  I?  "  and  finally,  with  your  leave, 
I'll  sit  down  and  satisfy  my  cravings  of  to-day,  and  leave  to- 


210  THE   TENANT  OF 

morrow  to  shift  for  itself — who  knows  but  what  I  may 
secure  both  this  and  that  ? ' 

'  But  you  are  not  required  to  abstain  from  the  sub- 
stantial dinner  of  to-day :  you  are  only  advised  to  partake  of 
these  coarser  viands  in  such  moderation  as  not  to  incapaci- 
tate you  from  enjoying  the  choicer  banquet  of  to-morrow. 
If,  regardless  of  that  counsel,  you  choose  to  make  a  beast  of 
yourself  now,  and  over-eat  and  over-drink  yourself  till  you 
turn  the  good  victuals  into  poison,  who  is  to  blame  if,  here- 
after, while  you  are  suffering  the  torments  of  yesterday's 
gluttony  and  drunkenness,  you  see  more  temperate  men 
sitting  down  to  enjoy  themselves  at  that  splendid  entertain- 
ment which  you  are  unable  to  taste  ?  ' 

'Most  true,  my  patron  saint;  but  again,  our  friend 
Solomon  says,  "  There  is  nothing  better  for  a  man  than  to 
eat  and  to  drink,  and  to  be  merry." 

'  And  again,'  returned  I,  '  he  says,  "  Eejoice,  0  young 
man,  in  thy  youth ;  and  walk  in  the  ways  of  thine  heart, 
and  in  the  sight  of  thine  eyes :  but  know  thou,  that  for  all 
these  things  God  will  bring  thee  into  judgment." 

'  Well,  but,  Helen,  I'm  sure  I've  been  very  good  these 
last  few  weeks.  What  have  you  seen  amiss  in  me,  and  what 
would  you  have  me  to  do  ? ' 

'  Nothing  more  than  you  do,  Arthur :  your  actions  are  all 
right  so  far ;  but  I  would  have  your  thoughts  changed  ;  I 
would  have  you  to  fortify  yourself  against  temptation,  and 
not  to  call  evil  good,  and  good  evil ;  I  should  wish  you  to 
think  more  deeply,  to  look  further,  and  aim  higher  than 
you  do.' 


CHAPTEE  XXIV 

MAKCH  25ra. — Arthur  is  getting  tired — not  of  me,  I  trust,  but 
of  the  idle,  quiet  life  he  leads — and  no  wonder,  for  he  has  so 
few  sources  of  amusement:  he  never  reads  anything  but 
newspapers  and  sporting  magazines ;  and  when  he  sees  me 
occupied  with  a  book,  he  won't  let  me  rest  till  I  close  it. 
In  fine  weather  he  generally  manages  to  get  through  the 
time  pretty  well,  but  on  rainy  days,  of  which  we  have  had  a 
good  many  of  late,  it  is  quite  painful  to  witness  his  ennui. 
I  do  all  I  can  to  amuse  him,  but  it  is  impossible  to  get  him 
to  feel  interested  in  what  I  most  like  to  talk  about,  while,  on 
the  other  hand,  he  likes  to  talk  about  things  that  cannot 
interest  me — or  even  that  annoy  me — and  these  please  him 
the  most  of  all :  for  his  favourite  amusement  is  to  sit  or  loll 
beside  me  on  the  sofa,  and  tell  me  stories  of  his  former 
amours,  always  turning  upon  the  ruin  of  some  confiding  girl 
or  the  cozening  of  some  unsuspecting  husband ;  and  when  I 
express  my  horror  and  indignation,  he  lays  it  all  to  the 
charge  of  jealousy,  and  laughs  till  the  tears  run  down  his 
cheeks.  I  used  to  fly  into  passions  or  melt  into  tears  at  first, 
but  seeing  that  his  delight  increased  in  proportion  to  my 
anger  and  agitation,  I  have  since  endeavoured  to  suppress 
my  feelings  and  receive  his  revelations  in  the  silence  of  calm 
contempt ;  but  still  he  reads  the  inward  struggle  in  my  face, 
and  misconstrues  my  bitterness  of  soul  for  his  unworthiness 
into  the  pangs  of  wounded  jealousy ;  and  when  he  has 
sufficiently  diverted  himself  with  that,  or  fears  my  dis- 
pleasure will  become  too  serious  for  his  comfort,  he  tries  to 


212  THE  TENANT  OF 

kiss  and  soothe  me  into  smiles  again — never  were  his 
caresses  so  little  welcome  as  then  !  This  is  double  selfishness 
displayed  to  me  and  to  the  victims  of  his  former  love.  There 
are  times  when,  with  a  momentary  pang — a  flash  of  wild 
dismay,  I  ask  myself,  '  Helen,  what  have  you  done  ? '  But 
I  rebuke  the  inward  questioner,  and  repel  the  obtrusive 
thoughts  that  crowd  upon  me  ;  for  were  he  ten  times  as 
sensual  and  impenetrable  to  good  and  lofty  thoughts,  I  well 
know  I  have  no  right  to  complain.  And  I  don't  and  won't 
complain.  I  do  and  will  love  him  still ;  and  I  do  not  and 
will  not  regret  that  I  have  linked  my  fate  with  his. 

April  4th. — We  have  had  a  downright  quarrel.  The 
particulars  are  as  follows :  Arthur  had  told  me,  at  different 

intervals,  the  whole  story  of  his  intrigue  with  Lady  F , 

which  I  would  not  believe  before.  It  was  some  consolation, 
however,  to  find  that  in  this  instance  the  lady  had  been  more 
to  blame  than  he,  for  he  was  very  young  at  the  time,  and  she 
had  decidedly  made  the  first  advances,  if  what  he  said  was 
true.  I  hated  her  for  it,  for  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  chiefly 
contributed  to  his  corruption ;  and  when  he  was  beginning 
to  talk  about  her  the  other  day,  I  begged  he  would  not 
mention  her,  for  I  detested  the  very  sound  of  her  name. 

'Not  because  you  loved  her,  Arthur,  mind,  but  because 
she  injured  you  and  deceived  her  husband,  and  was 
altogether  a  very  abominable  woman,  whom  you  ought  to  be 
ashamed  to  mention.' 

But  he  defended  her  by  saying  that  she  had  a  doting  old 
husband,  whom  it  was  impossible  to  love. 

'  Then  why  did  she  marry  him  ?  '  said  I. 

'  For  his  money,'  was  the  reply. 

'  Then  that  was  another  crime,  and  her  solemn  promise 
to  love  and  honour  him  was  another,  that  only  increased 
the  enormity  of  the  last.' 

'You  are  too  severe  upon  the  poor  lady,'  laughed  he. 
'  But  never  mind,  Helen,  I  don't  care  for  her  now ;  and  I 
never  loved  any  of  them  half  as  much  as  I  do  you,  so  you 
needn't  fear  to  be  forsaken  like  them.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  213 

'  If  you  had  told  me  these  things  before,  Arthur,  I  never 
should  have  given  you  the  chance.' 

'  Wouldn't  you,  my  darling  ?  ' 

'  Most  certainly  not ! ' 

He  laughed  incredulously. 

'  I  wish  I  could  convince  you  of  it  now  !  '  cried  I,  starting 
up  from  beside  him  :  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  and  I 
hope  the  last,  I  wished  I  had  not  married  him. 

'  Helen,'  said  he,  more  gravely,  '  do  you  know  that  if  I 
believed  you  now  I  should  be  very  angry  ?  but  thank  heaven 
I  don't.  Though  you  stand  there  with  your  white  face  and 
flashing  eyes,  looking  at  me  like  a  very  tigress,  I  know  the 
heart  within  you  perhaps  a  trifle  better  than  you  know  it 
yourself.' 

Without  another  word  I  left  the  room  and  locked  myself 
up  in  my  own  chamber.  In  about  half  an  hour  he  came  to 
the  door,  and  first  he  tried  the  handle,  then  he  knocked. 

'  Won't  you  let  me  in,  Helen  ? '  said  he. 

'  No ;  you  have  displeased  me,'  I  replied, '  and  I  don't  want 
to  see  your  face  or  hear  your  voice  again  till  the  morning.' 

He  paused  a  moment  as  if  dumfounded  or  uncertain  how 
to  answer  such  a  speech,  and  then  turned  and  walked  away. 
This  was  only  an  hour  after  dinner :  I  knew  he  would  find 
it  very  dull  to  sit  alone  all  the  evening ;  and  this  considerably 
softened  my  resentment,  though  it  did  not  make  me  relent. 
I  was  determined  to  show  him  that  my  heart  was  not  his 
slave,  and  I  could  live  without  him  if  I  chose ;  and  I  sat 
down  and  wrote  a  long  letter  to  my  aunt,  of  course  telling 
her  nothing  of  all  this.  Soon  after  ten  o'clock  I  heard  him 
come  up  again,  but  he  passed  my  door  and  went  straight  to  his 
own  dressing-room,  where  he  shut  himself  in  for  the  night. 

I  was  rather  anxious  to  see  how  he  would  meet  me  in 
the  morning,  and  not  a  little  disappointed  to  behold  him 
enter  the  breakfast-room  with  a  careless  smile. 

'  Are  you  cross  still,  Helen  ? '  said  he,  approaching  as  if 
to  salute  me.  I  coldly  turned  to  the  table,  and  began  to 
pour  out  the  coffee,  observing  that  he  was  rather  late. 


214  THE  TENANT  OF 

He  uttered  a  low  whistle  and  sauntered  away  to  the 
window,  where  he  stood  for  some  minutes  looking  out  upon 
the  pleasing  prospect  of  sullen  grey  clouds,  streaming  rain, 
soaking  lawn,  and  dripping  leafless  trees,  and  muttering 
execrations  on  the  weather,  and  then  sat  down  to  break- 
fast. While  taking  his  coffee  he  muttered  it  was  '  d d 

cold.' 

'  You  should  not  have  left  it  so  long,'  said  I. 

He  made  no  answer,  and  the  meal  was  concluded  in 
silence.  It  was  a  relief  to  both  when  the  letter-bag  was 
brought  in.  It  contained  upon  examination  a  newspaper  and 
one  or  two  letters  for  him,  and  a  couple  of  letters  for  me, 
which  he  tossed  across  the  table  without  a  remark.  One 
was  from  my  brother,  the  other  from  Milicent  Hargrave, 
who  is  now  in  London  with  her  mother.  His,  I  think,  were 
business  letters,  and  apparently  not  much  to  his  mind,  for  he 
crushed  them  into  his  pocket  with  some  muttered  expletives 
that  I  should  have  reproved  him  for  at  any  other  time.  The 
paper  he  set  before  him,  and  pretended  to  be  deeply  absorbed 
in  its  contents  during  the  remainder  of  breakfast,  and  a  con- 
siderable time  after. 

The  reading  and  answering  of  my  letters,  and  the 
direction  of  household  concerns,  afforded  me  ample  employ- 
ment for  the  morning :  after  lunch  I  got  my  drawing,  and 
from  dinner  till  bed-time  I  read.  Meanwhile,  poor  Arthur 
was  sadly  at  a  loss  for  something  to  amuse  him  or  to  occupy 
his  time.  He  wanted  to  appear  as  busy  and  as  unconcerned 
as  I  did.  Had  the  weather  at  all  permitted,  he  would  doubt- 
less have  ordered  his  horse  and  set  off  to  some  distant 
region,  no  matter  where,  immediately  after  breakfast,  and 
not  returned  till  night :  had  there  been  a  lady  anywhere 
within  reach,  of  any  age  between  fifteen  and  forty-five,  he 
would  have  sought  revenge  and  found  employment  in  getting 
up,  or  trying  to  get  up,  a  desperate  flirtation  with  her ;  but 
being,  to  my  private  satisfaction,  entirely  cut  off  from  both 
these  sources  of  diversion,  his  sufferings  were  truly  deplor- 
able. When  he  had  done  yawning  over  his  paper  and 


WILDFELL  HALL  215 

scribbling  short  answers  to  his  shorter  letters,  he  spent  the 
remainder  of  the  morning  and  the  whole  of  the  afternoon  in 
fidgeting  about  from  room  to  room,  watching  the  clouds, 
cursing  the  rain,  alternately  petting  and  teasing  and  abusing 
his  dogs,  sometimes  lounging  on  the  sofa  with  a  book  that  he 
could  not  force  himself  to  read,  and  very  often  fixedly  gazing 
at  me  when  he  thought  I  did  not  perceive  it,  with  the  vain 
hope  of  detecting  some  traces  of  tears,  or  some  tokens  of 
remorseful  anguish  in  my  face.  But  I  managed  to  preserve  an 
undisturbed  though  grave  serenity  throughout  the  day.  I  was 
not  really  angry :  I  felt  for  him  all  the  time,  and  longed  to  be 
reconciled ;  but  I  determined  he  should  make  the  first 
advances,  or  at  least  show  some  signs  of  an  humble  and  con- 
trite spirit  first ;  for,  if  I  began,  it  would  only  minister  to  his 
self-conceit,  increase  his  arrogance,  and  quite  destroy  the 
lesson  I  wanted  to  give  him. 

He  made  a  long  stay  in  the  dining-room  after  dinner,  and, 
I  fear,  took  an  unusual  quantity  of  wine,  but  not  enough  to 
loosen  his  tongue :  for  when  he  came  in  and  found  me 
quietly  occupied  with  my  book,  too  busy  to  lift  my  head  on 
his  entrance,  he  merely  murmured  an  expression  of  suppressed 
disapprobation,  and,  shutting  the  door  with  a  bang,  went  and 
stretched  himself  at  full  length  on  the  sofa,  and  composed 
himself  to  sleep.  But  his  favourite  cocker,  Dash,  that  had 
been  lying  at  my  feet,  took  the  liberty  of  jumping  upon  him 
and  beginning  to  lick  his  face.  He  struck  it  off  with  a 
smart  blow,  and  the  poor  dog  squeaked  and  ran  cowering 
back  to  me.  When  he  woke  up,  about  half  an  hour  after,  he 
called  it  to  him  again,  but  Dash  only  looked  sheepish  and 
wagged  the  tip  of  his  tail.  He  called  again  more  sharply, 
but  Dash  only  clung  the  closer  to  me,  and  licked  my  hand, 
as  if  imploring  protection.  Enraged  at  this,  his  master 
snatched  up  a  heavy  book  and  hurled  it  at  his  head.  The 
poor  dog  set  up  a  piteous  outcry,  and  ran  to  the  door.  I  let 
him  out,  and  then  quietly  took  up  the  book. 

'  Give  that  book  to  me,'  said  Arthur,  in  no  very  courteous 
tone.  I  gave  it  to  him. 


216  THE   TENANT  OF 

'  Why  did  you  let  the  dog  out  ? '  he  asked ;  '  you  knew 
I  wanted  him.' 

'  By  what  token  ?  '  I  replied  ;  '  by  your  throwing  the  book 
at  him  ?  but  perhaps  it  was  intended  for  me  ?  ' 

'  No ;  but  I  see  you've  got  a  taste  of  it/  said  he,  looking 
at  my  hand,  that  had  also  been  struck,  and  was  rather 
severely  grazed. 

I  returned  to  my  reading,  and  he  endeavoured  to  occupy 
himself  in  the  same  manner ;  but  in  a  little  while,  after 
several  portentous  yawns,  he  pronounced  his  book  to  be 
'  cursed  trash,'  and  threw  it  on  the  table.  Then  followed 
eight  or  ten  minutes  of  silence,  during  the  greater  part  of 
which,  I  believe,  he  was  staring  at  me.  At  last  his  patience 
was  tired  out. 

'  What  is  that  book,  Helen  ? '  he  exclaimed. 

I  told  him. 

'  Is  it  interesting  ?  ' 

'Yes,  very.' 

I  went  on  reading,  or  pretending  to  read,  at  least — I 
cannot  say  there  was  much  communication  between  my  eyes 
and  my  brain ;  for,  while  the  former  ran  over  the  pages,  the 
latter  was  earnestly  wondering  when  Arthur  would  speak 
next,  and  what  he  would  say,  and  what  I  should  answer.  But 
he  did  not  speak  again  till  I  rose  to  make  the  tea,  and  then 
it  was  only  to  say  he  should  not  take  any.  He  continued 
lounging  on  the  sofa,  and  alternately  closing  his  eyes  and 
looking  at  his  watch  and  at  me,  till  bed-time,  when  I  rose, 
and  took  my  candle  and  retired. 

'  Helen  ! '  cried  he,  the  moment  I  had  left  the  room.  I 
turned  back,  and  stood  awaiting  his  commands. 

'  What  do  you  want,  Arthur  ? '  I  said  at  length. 

'  Nothing,'  replied  he.     '  Go  ! ' 

I  went,  but  hearing  him  mutter  something  as  I  was 
closing  the  door,  I  turned  again.  It  sounded  very  like 
'  confounded  slut,'  but  I  was  quite  willing  it  should  be  some- 
thing else. 

'  Were  you  speaking,  Arthur  ? '  I  asked. 


WILDFELL  HALL  217 

'  No,'  was  the  answer,  and  I  shut  the  door  and  departed. 
I  saw  nothing  more  of  him  till  the  following  morning  at 
breakfast,  when  he  came  down  a  full  hour  after  the  usual 
time. 

'  You're  very  late,'  was  my  morning's  salutation. 

'  You  needn't  have  waited  for  me,'  was  his ;  and  he 
walked  up  to  the  window  again.  It  was  just  such  weather 
as  yesterday. 

'  Oh,  this  confounded  rain  ! '  he  muttered.  But,  after 
studiously  regarding  it  for  a  minute  or  two,  a  bright  idea 
seemed  to  strike  him,  for  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  'But  I 
know  what  I'll  do  ! '  and  then  returned  and  took  his  seat  at 
the  table.  The  letter-bag  was  already  there,  waiting  to  be 
opened.  He  unlocked  it  and  examined  the  contents,  but 
said  nothing  about  them. 

'  Is  there  anything  for  me  ?  '  I  asked. 

'  No.' 

He  opened  the  newspaper  and  began  to  read. 

'  You'd  better  take  your  coffee,'  suggested  I ;  'it  will  be 
cold  again.' 

'  You  may  go,'  said  he,  '  if  you've  done  ;  I  don't  want 
•you.' 

I  rose  and  withdrew  to  the  next  room,  wondering  if  we 
were  to  have  another  such  miserable  day  as  yesterday,  and 
wishing  intensely  for  an  end  of  these  mutually  inflicted  tor- 
ments. Shortly  after  I  heard  him  ring  the  bell  and  give  some 
orders  about  his  wardrobe  that  sounded  as  if  he  meditated  a 
long  journey.  He  then  sent  for  the  coachman,  and  I  heard 
something  about  the  carriage  and  the  horses,  and  London, 
and  seven  o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  that  startled  and  dis- 
turbed me  not  a  little. 

'  I  must  not  let  him  go  to  London,  whatever  comes  of  it,' 
said  I  to  myself ;  '  he  will  run  into  all  kinds  of  mischief,  and 
I  shall  be  the  cause  of  it.  But  the  question  is,  How  am  I  to 
alter  his  purpose  ?  Well,  I  will  wait  awhile,  and  see  if  he 
mentions  it.' 

I  waited  most  anxiously,  from  hour  to  hour ;  but  not  a 


218  THE   TENANT  OF 

word  was  spoken,  on  that  or  any  other  subject,  to  me.  He 
whistled  and  talked  to  his  dogs,  and  wandered  from  room  to 
room,  much  the  same  as  on  the  previous  day.  At  last  I 
began  to  think  I  must  introduce  the  subject  myself,  and  was 
pondering  how  to  bring  it  about,  when  John  unwittingly 
came  to  my  relief  with  the  following  message  from  the  coach- 
man: 

'  Please,  sir,  Eichard  says  one  of  the  horses  has  got  a  very 
bad  cold,  and  he  thinks,  sir,  if  you  could  make  it  convenient 
to  go  the  day  after  to-morrow,  instead  of  to-morrow,  he  could 
physic  it  to-day,  so  as 

'  Confound  his  impudence  ! '  interjected  the  master. 

'  Please,  sir,  he  says  it  would  be  a  deal  better  if  you  could,' 
persisted  John,  '  for  he  hopes  there'll  be  a  change  in  the 
weather  shortly,  and  he  says  it's  not  likely,  when  a  horse  is 
so  bad  with  a  cold,  and  physicked  and  all ' 

'  Devil  take  the  horse  ! '  cried  the  gentleman.  '  Well,  tell 
him  I'll  think  about  it,'  he  added,  after  a  moment's  reflection. 
He  cast  a  searching  glance  at  me,  as  the  servant  withdrew, 
expecting  to  see  some  token  of  deep  astonishment  and  alarm  ; 
but,  being  previously  prepared,  I  preserved  an  aspect  of 
stoical  indifference.  His  countenance  fell  as  he  met  my 
steady  gaze,  and  he  turned  away  in  very  obvious  disappoint- 
ment, and  walked  up  to  the  fire-place,  where  he  stood  in  an 
attitude  of  undisguised  dejection,  leaning  against  the  chimney- 
piece  with  his  forehead  sunk  upon  his  arm. 

'  Where  do  you  want  to  go,  Arthur  ?  '  said  I. 

'  To  London,'  replied  he,  gravely. 

'  What  for  ? '  I  asked. 

'  Because  I  cannot  be  happy  here.' 

'Why  not?' 

'  Because  my  wife  doesn't  love  me.' 

'  She  would  love  you  with  all  her  heart,  if  you  deserved 
it.' 

'  What  must  I  do  to  deserve  it  ?  ' 

This  seemed  humble  and  earnest  enough  ;  and  I  was  so 
much  affected,  between  sorrow  and  joy,  that  I  was  obliged 


WILDFELL   HALL  219 

to  pause  a  few  seconds  before  I  could  steady  my  voice  to 
reply. 

1  If  she  gives  you  her  heart,'  said  I,  '  you  must  take  it 
thankfully,  and  use  it  well,  and  not  pull  it  in  pieces,  and 
laugh  in  her  face,  because  she  cannot  snatch  it  away.' 

He  now  turned  round,  and  stood  facing  me,  with  his 
back  to  the  fire.  '  Come,  then,  Helen,  are  you  going  to  be  a 
good  girl  ? '  said  he. 

This  sounded  rather  too  arrogant,  and  the  smile  that 
accompanied  it  did  not  please  me.  I  therefore  hesitated  to 
reply.  Perhaps  my  former  answer  had  implied  too  much :  he 
had  heard  my  voice  falter,  and  might  have  seen  me  brush 
away  a  tear. 

'  Are  you  going  to  forgive  me,  Helen  ?  '  he  resumed,  more 
humbly. 

'  Are  you  penitent  ?  '  I  replied,  stepping  up  to  him  and 
smiling  in  his  face. 

'  Heart-broken  ! '  he  answered,  with  a  rueful  countenance, 
yet  with  a  merry  smile  just  lurking  within  his  eyes  and 
about  the  corners  of  his  mouth  ;  but  this  could  not  repulse 
me,  and  I  flew  into  his  arms.  He  fervently  embraced  me, 
and  though  I  shed  a  torrent  of  tears,  I  think  I  never  was 
happier  in  my  life  than  at  that  moment. 

'  Then  you  won't  go  to  London,  Arthur  ?  '  I  said,  when 
the  first  transport  of  tears  and  kisses  had  subsided. 

'  No,  love, — unless  you  will  go  with  me.' 

'I  will,  gladly,'  I  answered,  'if  you  think  the  change 
will  amuse  you,  and  if  you  will  put  off  the  journey  till  next 
week.' 

He  readily  consented,  but  said  there  was  no  need  of 
much  preparation,  as  he  should  not  be  for  staying  long,  for 
he  did  not  wish  me  to  be  Londonized,  and  to  lose  my 
country  freshness  and  originality  by  too  much  intercourse 
with  the  ladies  of  the  world.  I  thought  this  folly ;  but  I 
did  not  wish  to  contradict  him  now  :  I  merely  said  that  I 
was  of  very  domestic  habits,  as  he  well  knew,  and  had  no 
particular  wish  to  mingle  with  the  world. 


220  THE  TENANT  OF 

So  we  are  to  go  to  London  on  Monday,  the  day  after  to- 
morrow. It  is  now  four  days  since  the  termination  of  our 
quarrel,  and  I  am  sure  it  has  done  us  both  good :  it  has 
made  me  like  Arthur  a  great  deal  better,  and  made  him 
behave  a  great  deal  better  to  me.  He  has  never  once 
attempted  to  annoy  me  since,  by  the  most  distant  allusion  to 

Lady  F ,  or  any  of  those  disagreeable  reminiscences  of 

his  former  life.  I  wish  I  could  blot  them  from  my  memory, 
or  else  get  him  to  regard  such  matters  in  the  same  light  as  I 
do.  Well !  it  is  something,  however,  to  have  made  him  see 
that  they  are  not  fit  subjects  for  a  conjugal  jest.  He  may 
see  further  some  time.  I  will  put  no  limits  to  my  hopes  ; 
and,  in  spite  of  my  aunt's  forebodings  and  my  own  unspoken 
fears,  I  trust  we  shall  be  happy  yet. 


CHAPTEE   XXV 

ON  the  eighth  of  April  we  went  to  London,  on  the  eighth  of 
May  I  returned,  in  obedience  to  Arthur's  wish ;  very  much 
against  my  own,  because  I  left  him  behind.     If  he  had  come 
with  me,  I  should  have  been  very  glad  to  get  home  again, 
for  he  led  me  such  a  round  of  restless  dissipation  while  there, 
that,  in  that  short  space  of  time,  I  was  quite  tired  out.      He 
seemed   bent  upon   displaying   me  to  his   friends   and  ac- 
quaintances  in   particular,  and   the   public   in   general,  on 
every  possible  occasion,  and  to  the  greatest  possible  advan- 
tage.    It  was   something   to  feel  that  he  considered  me  a 
worthy  object  of  pride ;  but  I  paid  dear  for  the  gratification : 
for,  in  the  first  place,  to  please  him  I  had  to  violate  my 
cherished    predilections,   my   almost    rooted    principles    in 
favour  of  a  plain,  dark,  sober  style  of  dress — I  must  sparkle 
in  costly  jewels  and  deck  myself  out  like  a  painted  butterfly, 
just  as  I  had,  long  since,  determined  I  would  never  do — and 
this  was  no  trifling  sacrifice ;  in  the  second  place,  I  was  con- 
tinually straining  to  satisfy  his  sanguine  expectations  and  do 
honour  to  his  choice  by  my  general  conduct  and  deportment, 
and  fearing  to   disappoint  him   by  some  awkward  misde- 
meanour, or  some  trait  of  inexperienced  ignorance  about  the 
customs   of   society,   especially   when   I   acted   the  part  of 
hostess,  which  I  was  not  unfrequently  called  upon  to  do ; 
and,  in  the  third  place,  as  I  intimated  before,  I  was  wearied 
of  the  throng   and  bustle,  the  restless  hurry   and   ceaseless 
change  of  a  life  so  alien  to  all  my  previous  habits.    At  last,  he 
suddenly  discovered  that  the  London  air  did  not  agree  with 


222  THE  TENANT  OF 

me,  and  I  was  languishing  for  my  country  home,  and  must 
immediately  return  to  Grassdale. 

I  laughingly  assured  him  that  the  case  was  not  so 
urgent  as  he  appeared  to  think  it,  but  I  was  quite  willing  to 
go  home  if  he  was.  He  replied  that  he  should  be  obliged  to 
remain  a  week  or  two  longer,  as  he  had  business  that 
required  his  presence. 

'  Then  I  will  stay  with  you,'  said  I. 

'  But  I  can't  do  with  you,  Helen,'  was  his  answer  :  '  as 
long  as  you  stay  I  shall  attend  to  you  and  neglect  my 
business.' 

'  But  I  won't  let  you,'  I  returned  ;  '  now  that  I  know  you 
have  business  to  attend  to,  I  shall  insist  upon  your  attending 
to  it,  and  letting  me  alone  ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  shall  be 
glad  of  a  little  rest.  I  can  take  my  rides  and  walks  in  the 
Park  as  usual ;  and  your  business  cannot  occupy  all  your 
time :  I  shall  see  you  at  meal-times,  and  in  the  evenings  at 
least,  and  that  will  be  better  than  being  leagues  away  and 
never  seeing  you  at  all.' 

'  But,  my  love,  I  cannot  let  you  stay.  How  can  I  settle 
my  affairs  when  I  know  that  you  are  here,  neglected ?  ' 

'  I  shall  not  feel  myself  neglected  :  while  you  are  doing 
your  duty,  Arthur,  I  shall  never  complain  of  neglect.  If 
you  had  told  me  before,  that  you  had  anything  to  do,  it 
would  have  been  half  done  before  this  ;  and  now  you  must 
make  up  for  lost  time  by  redoubled  exertions.  Tell  me  what 
it  is ;  and  I  will  be  your  taskmaster,  instead  of  being  a 
hindrance.' 

'  No,  no,'  persisted  the  impracticable  creature  ;  '  you  must 
go  home,  Helen ;  I  must  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
you  are  safe  and  well,  though  far  away.  Your  bright  eyes 
are  faded,  and  that  tender,  delicate  bloom  has  quite  deserted 
your  cheek.' 

'  That  is  only  with  too  much  gaiety  and  fatigue.' 

'  It  is  not,  I  tell  you  ;  it  is  the  London  air  :  you  are 
pining  for  the  fresh  breezes  of  your  country  home,  and 
you  shall  feel  them  before  you  are  two  days  older.  And 


WILDFELL  HALL  223 

remember  your  situation,  dearest  Helen  ;  on  your  health, 
you  know,  depends  the  health,  if  not  the  life,  of  our  future 
hope.' 

'  Then  you  really  wish  to  get  rid  of  me  ? ' 

'  Positively,  I  do  ;  and  I  will  take  you  down  myself  to 
Grassdale,  and  then  return.  I  shall  not  be  absent  above  a 
week  or  fortnight  at  most.' 

'  But  if  I  must  go,  I  will  go  alone  :  if  you  must  stay, 
it  is  needless  to  waste  your  time  in  the  journey  there  and 
back.' 

But  he  did  not  like  the  idea  of  sending  me  alone. 

'  Why,  what  helpless  creature  do  you  take  me  for,'  I 
replied,  '  that  you  cannot  trust  me  to  go  a  hundred  miles  in 
our  own  carriage,  with  our  own  footman  and  a  maid  to 
attend  me  ?  If  you  come  with  me  I  shall  assuredly  keep  you. 
But  tell  me,  Arthur,  what  is  this  tiresome  business ;  and  why 
did  you  never  mention  it  before  ?  ' 

'  It  is  only  a  little  business  with  my  lawyer,'  said  he  ;  and 
he  told  me  something  about  a  piece  of  property  he  wanted 
to  sell,  in  order  to  pay  off  a  part  of  the  incumbrances  on  his 
estate  ;  but  either  the  account  was  a  little  confused,  or  I  was 
rather  dull  of  comprehension,  for  I  could  not  clearly  under- 
stand how  that  should  keep  him  in  town  a  fortnight  after 
me.  Still  less  can  I  now  comprehend  how  it  should  keep 
him  a  month,  for  it  is  nearly  that  time  since  I  left  him,  and 
no  signs  of  his  return  as  yet.  In  every  letter  he  promises 
to  be  with  me  in  a  few  days,  and  every  time  deceives  me,  or 
deceives  himself.  His  excuses  are  vague  and  insufficient. 
I  cannot  doubt  that  he  has  got  among  his  former  companions 
again.  Oh,  why  did  I  leave  him !  I  wish — I  do  intensely 
wish  he  would  return ! 

June  29th. — No  Arthur  yet ;  and  for  many  days  I  have 
been  looking  and  longing  in  vain  for  a  letter.  His  letters, 
when  they  come,  are  kind,  if  fair  words  and  endearing 
epithets  can  give  them  a  claim  to  the  title — but  very  short, 
and  full  of  trivial  excuses  and  promises  that  I  cannot  trust ; 
and  yet  how  anxiously  I  look  forward  to  them  !  how  eagerly 


224  THE  TENANT  OF 

1  open  and  devour  one  of  those  little,  hastily-scribbled  returns 
for  the  three  or  four  long  letters,  hitherto  unanswered,  he 
has  had  from  me  ! 

Oh,  it  is  cruel  to  leave  me  so  long  alone  !    He  knows  I 
have  no  one  but    Eachel    to  speak  to,  for  we  have  no 
neighbours  here,  except  the  Hargraves,  whose  residence  I 
can  dimly  descry  from  these  upper  windows  embosomed 
among  those  low,  woody  hills  beyond  the  Dale.     I  was  glad 
when  I  learnt  that  Milicent  was  so   near  us ;    and  her 
company  would  be  a  soothing  solace  to  me  now ;  but  she  is 
still  in  town  with  her  mother ;  there  is  no  one  at  the  Grove 
but  little  Esther  and  her  French  governess,  for  Walter  is 
always  away.     I  saw  that  paragon  of  manly  perfections  in 
London :  he  seemed  scarcely  to  merit  the  eulogiums  of  his 
mother  and    sister,   though    he    certainly  appeared  more 
conversable  and   agreeable   than   Lord   Lowborough,  more 
candid   and   high-minded    than    Mr.    Grimsby,    and   more 
polished  and  gentlemanly  than  Mr.  Hattersley,  Arthur's  only 
other  friend  whom  he  judged  fit  to  introduce  to  me. — Oh, 
Arthur,  why  won't  you  come  ?  why  won't  you  write  to  me  at 
least  ?     You  talked  about  my  health :  how  can  you  expect 
me  to  gather  bloom  and  vigour  here,  pining  in  solitude  and 
restless  anxiety  from  day  to  day  ? — It  would  serve  you  right 
to  come  back  and  find  my  good  looks  entirely  wasted  away.   I 
would  beg  my  uncle  and  aunt,  or  my  brother,  to  come  and 
see  me,  but  I  do  not  like  to  complain  of  my  loneliness  to 
them,  and  indeed  loneliness  is  the  least  of  my  sufferings. 
But  what  is  he  doing — what  is  it  that  keeps  him  away?     It 
is  this  ever-recurring  question,  and  the  horrible  suggestions 
it  raises,  that  distract  me. 

July  3rd. — My  last  bitter  letter  has  wrung  from  him  an 
answer  at  last,  and  a  rather  longer  one  than  usual ;  but  still 
I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it.  He  playfully  abuses  me 
for  the  gall  and  vinegar  of  my  latest  effusion,  tells  me  I  can 
have  no  conception  of  the  multitudinous  engagements  that 
keep  him  away,  but  avers  that,  in  spite  of  them  all,  he  will 
assuredly  be  with  me  before  the  close  of  next  week ;  though 


WILDFELL  HALL  225 

it  is  impossible  for  a  man  so  circumstanced  as  he  is  to  fix 
the  precise  day  of  his  return :  meantime  he  exhorts  me  to 
the  exercise  of  patience,  'that  first  of  woman's  virtues,' 
and  desires  me  to  remember  the  saying,  '  Absence  makes 
the  heart  grow  fonder,'  and  comfort  myself  with  the 
assurance  that  the  longer  he  stays  away  the  better  he  shall 
love  me  when  he  returns ;  and  till  he  does  return,  he  begs  I 
will  continue  to  write  to  him  constantly,  for,  though  he  is 
sometimes  too  idle  and  often  too  busy  to  answer  my  letters 
as  they  come,  he  likes  to  receive  them  daily ;  and  if  I  fulfil 
my  threat  of  punishing  his  seeming  neglect  by  ceasing  to 
write,  he  shall  be  so  angry  that  he  will  do  his  utmost  to 
forget  me.  He  adds  this  piece  of  intelligence  respecting 
poor  Milicent  Hargrave  : 

'Your  little  friend  Milicent  is  likely,  before  long,  to 
follow  your  example,  and  take  upon  her  the  yoke  of  matri- 
mony in  conjunction  with  a  friend  of  mine.  Hattersley,  you 
know,  has  not  yet  fulfilled  his  direful  threat  of  throwing  his 
precious  person  away  on  the  first  old  maid  that  chose  to 
evince  a  tenderness  for  him  ;  but  he  still  preserves  a  resolute 
determination  to  see  himself  a  married  man  before  the  year 
is  out.  "  Only,"  said  he  to  me,  "  I  must  have  somebody  that 
will  let  me  have  my  own  way  in  everything — not  like  your 
wife,  Huntingdon  :  she  is  a  charming  creature,  but  she  looks 
as  if  she  had  a  will  of  her  own,  and  could  play  the  vixen 
upon  occasion  "  (I  thought  "you're  right  there,  man,"  but  I 
didn't  say  so).  "  I  must  have  some  good,  quiet  soul  that  will 
let  me  just  do  what  I  like  and  go  where  I  like,  keep  at  home 
or  stay  away,  without  a  word  of  reproach  or  complaint ;  for 
I  can't  do  with  being  bothered."  "  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  know 
somebody  that  will  suit  you  to  a  tee,  if  you  don't  care  for 
money,  and  that's  Hargrave's  sister,  Milicent."  He  desired 
to  be  introduced  to  her  forthwith,  for  he  said  he  had  plenty 
of  the  needful  himself,  or  should  have  when  his  old  governor 
chose  to  quit  the  stage.  So  you  see,  Helen,  I  have  managed 
pretty  well,  both  for  your  friend  and  mine.' 

Poor  Milicent  1     But  I  cannot  imagine  she  will  ever  be 


226  THE   TENANT  OF 

led  to  accept  such  a  suitor — one  so  repugnant  to  all  her  ideas 
of  a  man  to  be  honoured  and  loved. 

5th. — Alas !  I  was  mistaken.  I  have  got  a  long  letter 
from  her  this  morning,  telling  me  she  is  already  engaged,  and 
expects  to  be  married  before  the  close  of  the  month. 

'  I  hardly  know  what  to  say  about  it,'  she  writes,  '  or  what 
to  think.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Helen,  I  don't  like  the 
thoughts  of  it  at  all.  If  I  am  to  be  Mr.  Hattersley's  wife,  I 
must  try  to  love  him  ;  and  I  do  try  with  all  my  might ;  but 
I  have  made  very  little  progress  yet ;  and  the  worst  symptom 
of  the  case  is,  that  the  further  he  is  from  me  the  better  I  like 
him :  he  frightens  me  with  his  abrupt  manners  and  strange 
hectoring  ways,  and  I  dread  the  thoughts  of  marrying  him. 
"  Then  why  have  you  accepted  him  ?  "  you  will  ask ;  and  I 
didn't  know  I  had  accepted  him  ;  but  mamma  tells  me  I  have, 
and  he  seems  to  think  so  too.  I  certainly  didn't  mean  to  do 
so ;  but  I  did  not  like  to  give  him  a  flat  refusal,  for  fear 
mamma  should  be  grieved  and  angry  (for  I  knew  she  wished 
me  to  marry  him),  and  I  wanted  to  talk  to  her  first  about  it : 
so  I  gave  him  what  I  thought  was  an  evasive,  half  negative 
answer ;  but  she  says  it  was  as  good  as  an  acceptance,  and 
he  would  think  me  very  capricious  if  I  were  to  attempt  to 
draw  back — and  indeed  I  was  so  confused  and  frightened  at 
the  moment,  I  can  hardly  tell  what  I  said.  And  next  time  I 
saw  him,  he  accosted  me  in  all  confidence  as  his  affianced 
bride,  and  immediately  began  to  settle  matters  with  mamma. 
I  had  not  courage  to  contradict  them  then,  and  how  can  I  do 
it  now  ?  I  cannot ;  they  would  think  me  mad.  Besides, 
mamma  is  so  delighted  with  the  idea  of  the  match  ;  she 
thinks  she  has  managed  so  well  for  me  ;  and  I  cannot  bear 
to  disappoint  her.  I  do  object  sometimes,  and  tell  her  what 
I  feel,  but  you  don't  know  how  she  talks.  Mr.  Hattersley, 
you  know,  is  the  son  of  a  rich  banker,  and  as  Esther  and  I 
have  no  fortunes,  and  Walter  very  little,  our  dear  mamma  is 
very  anxious  to  see  us  all  well  married,  that  is,  united  to  rich 
partners.  It  is  not  my  idea  of  being  well  married,  but  she 
means  it  all  for  the  best.  She  says  when  I  am  safe  off  her 


WILDFELL  HALL  227 

hands  it  will  be  such  a  relief  to  her  mind  ;  and  she  assures 
me  it  will  be  a  good  thing  for  the  family  as  well  as  for  me. 
Even  Walter  is  pleased  at  the  prospect,  and  when  I  confessed 
my  reluctance  to  him,  he  said  it  was  all  childish  nonsense. 
Do  you  think  it  nonsense,  Helen  ?  I  should  not  care  if  I 
could  see  any  prospect  of  being  able  to  love  and  admire  him, 
but  I  can't.  There  is  nothing  about  him  to  hang  one's 
esteem  and  affection  upon  ;  he  is  so  diametrically  opposite  to 
what  I  imagined  my  husband  should  be.  Do  write  to  me, 
and  say  all  you  can  to  encourage  me.  Don't  attempt  to  dis- 
suade me,  for  my  fate  is  fixed :  preparations  for  the  import- 
ant event  are  already  going  on  around  me  ;  and  don't  say  a 
word  against  Mr.  Hattersley,  for  I  want  to  think  well  of  him ; 
and  though  I  have  spoken  against  him  myself,  it  is  for  the  last 
time :  hereafter,  I  shall  never  permit  myself  to  utter  a  word 
in  his  dispraise,  however  he  may  seem  to  deserve  it;  and 
whoever  ventures  to  speak  slightingly  of  the  man  I  have 
promised  to  love,  to  honour,  and  obey,  must  expect  my 
serious  displeasure.  After  all,  I  think  he  is  quite  as  good  as 
Mr.  Huntingdon,  if  not  better ;  and  yet  you  love  him,  and 
seem  to  be  happy  and  contented;  and  perhaps  I  may 
manage  as  well.  You  must  tell  me,  if  you  can,  that  Mr. 
Hattersley  is  better  than  he  seems — that  he  is  upright, 
honourable,  and  open-hearted — in  fact,  a  perfect  diamond  in 
the  rough.  He  may  be  all  this,  but  I  don't  know  him.  I 
know  only  the  exterior,  and  what,  I  trust,  is  the  worst  part 
of  him.' 

She  concludes  with  '  Good-by,  dear  Helen.  I  am  waiting 
anxiously  for  your  advice — but  mind  you  let  it  be  all  on  the 
right  side.' 

Alas  !  poor  Milicent,  what  encouragement  can  I  give  you  ? 
or  what  advice — except  that  it  is  better  to  make  a  bold  stand 
now,  though  at  the  expense  of  disappointing  and  angering 
both  mother  and  brother  and  lover,  than  to  devote  your  whole 
life,  hereafter,  to  misery  and  vain  regret  ? 

Saturday,  13th. — The  week  is  over,  and  he  is  not  come. 
All  the  sweet  summer  is  passing  away  without  one  breath  of 


228  THE  TENANT   OF 

pleasure  to  me  or  benefit  to  him.  And  I  had  all  along  been 
looking  forward  to  this  season  with  the  fond,  delusive  hope 
that  we  should  enjoy  it  so  sweetly  together ;  and  that,  with 
God's  help  and  my  exertions,  it  would  be  the  means  of 
elevating  his  mind,  and  refining  his  taste  to  a  due  apprecia- 
tion of  the  salutary  and  pure  delights  of  nature,  and  peace, 
and  holy  love.  But  now — at  evening,  when  I  see  the  round 
red  sun  sink  quietly  down  behind  those  woody  hills,  leaving 
them  sleeping  in  a  warm,  red,  golden  haze,  I  only  think 
another  lovely  day  is  lost  to  him  and  me ;  and  at  morning, 
when  roused  'by  the  flutter  and  chirp  of  the  sparrows,  and  the 
gleeful  twitter  of  the  swallows — all  intent  upon  feeding  their 
young,  and  full  of  life  and  joy  in  their  own  little  frames — I 
open  the  window  to  inhale  the  balmy,  soul-reviving  air,  and 
look  out  upon  the  lovely  landscape,  laughing  in  dew  and  sun- 
shine— I  too  often  shame  that  glorious  scene  with  tears  of 
thankless  misery,  because  he  cannot  feel  its  freshening 
influence ;  and  when  I  wander  in  the  ancient  woods,  and 
meet  the  little  wild  flowers  smiling  in  my  path,  or  sit  in  the 
shadow  of  our  noble  ash-trees  by  the  water-side,  with  their 
branches  gently  swaying  in  the  light  summer  breeze  that 
murmurs  through  their  feathery  foliage — my  ears  full  of  that 
low  music  mingled  with  the  dreamy  hum  of  insects,  my  eyes 
abstractedly  gazing  on  the  glassy  surface  of  the  little  lake 
before  me,  with  the  trees  that  crowd  about  its  bank,  some 
gracefully  bending  to  kiss  its  waters,  some  rearing  their 
stately  heads  high  above,  but  stretching  their  wide  arms  over 
its  margin,  all  faithfully  mirrored  far,  far  down  in  its  glassy 
depth — though  sometimes  the  images  are  partially  broken  by 
the  sport  of  aquatic  insects,  and  sometimes,  for  a  moment, 
the  whole  is  shivered  into  trembling  fragments  by  a  transient 
breeze  that  sweeps  the  surface  too  roughly — still  I  have  no 
pleasure ;  for  the  greater  the  happiness  that  nature  sets 
before  me,  the  more  I  lament  that  he  is  not  here  to  taste  it : 
the  greater  the  bliss  we  might  enjoy  together,  the  more  I  feel 
our  present  wretchedness  apart  (yes,  ours ;  he  must  be 
wretched,  though  he  may  not  know  it) ;  and  the  more  my 


WILDFELL   HALL  229 

senses  are  pleased,  the  more  my  heart  is  oppressed  ;  for  he 
keeps  it  with  him  confined  amid  the  dust  and  smoke  of 
London — perhaps  shut  up  within  the  walls  of  his  own 
abominable  club. 

But  most  of  all,  at  night,  when  I  enter  my  lonely  chamber, 
and  look  out  upon  the  summer  moon,  '  sweet  regent  of  the 
sky,'  floating  above  me  in  the  '  black  blue  vault  of  heaven,' 
shedding  a  flood  of  silver  radiance  over  park,  and  wood,  and 
water,  so  pure,  so  peaceful,  so  divine — and  think,  Where  is  he 
now  ? — what  is  he  doing  at  this  moment  ?  wholly  unconscious 
of  this  heavenly  scene— perhaps  revelling  with  his  boon 
companions,  perhaps — God  help  me,  it  is  too — too  much ! 

23rd. — Thank  heaven,  he  is  come  at  last !  But  how 
altered  !  flushed  and  feverish,  listless  and  languid,  his  beauty 
strangely  diminished,  his  vigour  and  vivacity  quite  departed. 
I  have  not  upbraided  him  by  word  or  look ;  I  have  not  even 
asked  him  what  he  has  been  doing.  I  have  not  the  heart  to 
do  it,  for  I  think  he  is  ashamed  of  himself — he  must  be  so 
indeed,  and  such  inquiries  could  not  fail  to  be  painful  to  both. 
My  forbearance  pleases  him — touches  him  even,  I  am  inclined 
to  think.  He  says  he  is  glad  to  be  home  again,  and  God 
knows  how  glad  I  am  to  get  him  back,  even  as  he  is.  He  lies 
on  the  sofa  nearly  all  day  long  ;  and  I  play  and  sing  to  him 
for  hours  together.  I  write  his  letters  for  him,  and  get  him 
everything  he  wants ;  and  sometimes  I  read  to  him,  and 
sometimes  I  talk,  and  sometimes  only  sit  by  him  and  soothe 
him  with  silent  caresses.  I  know  he  does  not  deserve  it ; 
and  I  fear  I  am  spoiling  him  ;  but  this  once,  I  will  forgive 
him,  freely  and  entirely.  I  will  shame  him  into  virtue  if  I 
can,  and  I  will  never  let  him  leave  me  again. 

He  is  pleased  with  my  attentions — it  may  be,  grateful  for 
them.  He  likes  to  have  me  near  him  :  and  though  he  is 
peevish  and  testy  with  his  servants  and  his  dogs,  he  is  gentle 
and  kind  to  me.  What  he  would  be,  if  I  did  not  so  watch- 
fully anticipate  his  wants,  and  so  carefully  avoid,  or 
immediately  desist  from  doing  anything  that  has  a  tendency 
to  irritate  or  disturb  him,  with  however  little  reason,  I 


230  THE   TENANT  OF 

cannot  tell.  How  intensely  I  wish  he  were  worthy  of  all 
this  care  !  Last  night,  as  I  sat  beside  him,  with  his  head  in 
my  lap,  passing  my  fingers  through  his  beautiful  curls,  this 
thought  made  my  eyes  overflow  with  sorrowful  tears — as  it 
often  does ;  but  this  time,  a  tear  fell  on  his  face  and  made 
him  look  up.  He  smiled,  but  not  insultingly. 

'  Dear  Helen  ! '  he  said — '  why  do  you  cry  ?  you  know  that 
I  love  you '  (and  he  pressed  my  hand  to  his  feverish  lips), 
'  and  what  more  could  you  desire  ?  ' 

'  Only,  Arthur,  that  you  would  love  yourself  as  truly  and 
as  faithfully  as  you  are  loved  by  me.' 

'  That  would  be  hard,  indeed ! '  he  replied,  tenderly 
squeezing  my  hand. 

August  24th. — Arthur  is  himself  again,  as  lusty  and 
reckless,  as  light  of  heart  and  head  as  ever,  and  as  restless 
and  hard  to  amuse  as  a  spoilt  child,  and  almost  as  full  of 
mischief  too,  especially  when  wet  weather  keeps  him  within 
doors.  I  wish  he  had  something  to  do,  some  useful  trade, 
or  profession,  or  employment — anything  to  occupy  his  head 
or  his  hands  for  a  few  hours  a  day,  and  give  him  something 
besides  his  own  pleasure  to  think  about.  If  he  would  play 
the  country  gentleman  and  attend  to  the  farm — but  that  he 
knows  nothing  about,  and  won't  give  his  mind  to  consider, — 
or  if  he  would  take  up  with  some  literary  study,  or  learn  to 
draw  or  to  play — as  he  is  so  fond  of  music,  I  often  try  to 
persuade  him  to  learn  the  piano,  but  he  is  far  too  idle  for 
such  an  undertaking :  he  has  no  more  idea  of  exerting 
himself  to  overcome  obstacles  than  he  has  of  restraining  his 
natural  appetites  ;  and  these  two  things  are  the  ruin  of  him. 
I  lay  them  both  to  the  charge  of  his  harsh  yet  careless 
father,  and  his  madly  indulgent  mother.  If  ever  I  am  a 
mother  I  will  zealously  strive  against  this  crime  of  over- 
indulgence. I  (Jan  hardly  give  it  a  milder  name  when  I 
think  of  the  evils  it  brings. 

Happily,  it  will  soon  be  the  shooting  season,  and  then,  if 
the  weather  permit,  he  will  find  occupation  enough  in  the 
pursuit  and  destruction  of  the  partridges  and  pheasants  :  we 


WILDFELL  HALL  231 

have  no  grouse,  or  he  might  have  been  similarly  occupied  at 
this  moment,  instead  of  lying  under  the  acacia-tree  pulling 
poor  Dash's  ears.  But  he  says  it  is  dull  work  shooting 
alone ;  he  must  have  a  friend  or  two  to  help  him. 

'  Let  them  be  tolerably  decent  then,  Arthur/  said  I.  The 
word  '  friend '  in  his  mouth  makes  me  shudder  :  I  know  it 
was  some  of  his  '  friends '  that  induced  him  to  stay  behind 
me  in  London,  and  kept  him  away  so  long :  indeed,  from 
what  he  has  unguardedly  told  me,  or  hinted  from  time  to 
time,  I  cannot  doubt  that  he  frequently  showed  them  my 
letters,  to  let  them  see  how  fondly  his  wife  watched  over  his 
interests,  and  how  keenly  she  regretted  his  absence;  and 
that  they  induced  him  to  remain  week  after  week,  and  to 
plunge  into  all  manner  of  excesses,  to  avoid  being  laughed 
at  for  a  wife-ridden  fool,  and,  perhaps,  to  show  how  far  he 
could  venture  to  go  without  danger  of  shaking  the  fond 
creature's  devoted  attachment.  It  is  a  hateful  idea,  but  I 
cannot  believe  it  is  a  false  one. 

1  Well,'  replied  he,  '  I  thought  of  Lord  Lowborough  for 
one ;  but  there  is  no  possibility  of  getting  him  without  his 
better  half,  our  mutual  friend,  Annabella ;  so  we  must  ask 
them  both.  You're  not  afraid  of  her,  are  you,  Helen  ? '  he 
asked,  with  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

'  Of  course  not,'  I  answered :  '  why  should  I  ?  And  who 
besides  ? ' 

'  Hargrave  for  one.  He  will  be  glad  to  come,  though  his 
own  place  is  so  near,  for  he  has  little  enough  land  of  his 
own  to  shoot  over,  and  we  can  extend  our  depredations  into 
it,  if  we  like ;  and  he  is  thoroughly  respectable,  you  know, 
Helen — quite  a  lady's  man :  and  I  think,  Grimsby  for 
another :  he's  a  decent,  quiet  fellow  enough.  You'll  not 
object  to  Grimsby  ?  ' 

'  I  hate  him :  but,  however,  if  you  wish  it,  I'll  try  to 
endure  his  presence  for  a  while.' 

'  All  a  prejudice,  Helen,  a  mere  woman's  antipathy.' 

'  No ;  I  have  solid  grounds  for  my  dislike.  And  is 
that  all  ? ' 


232  THE   TENANT  OF 

'Why,  yes,  I  think  so.  Hattersley  will  be  too  busy 
billing  and  cooing  with  his  bride  to  have  much  time  to  spare 
for  guns  and  dogs  at  present,'  he  replied.  And  that  reminds 
me,  that  I  have  had  several  letters  from  Milicent  since  her 
marriage,  and  that  she  either  is,  or  pretends  to  be,  quite 
reconciled  to  her  lot.  She  professes  to  have  discovered 
numborless  virtues  and  perfections  in  her  husband,  some  of 
which,  I  fear,  less  partial  eyes  would  fail  to  distinguish,  though 
they  sought  them  carefully  with  tears ;  and  now  that  she 
is  accustomed  to  his  loud  voice,  and  abrupt,  uncourteous 
manners,  she  affirms  she  finds  no  difficulty  in  loving  him  as 
a  wife  should  do,  and  begs  I  will  burn  that  letter  wherein 
she  spoke  so  unadvisedly  against  him.  So  that  I  trust  she 
may  yet  be  happy ;  but,  if  she  is,  it  will  be  entirely  the 
reward  of  her  own  goodness  of  heart ;  for  had  she  chosen  to 
consider  herself  the  victim  of  fate,  or  of  her  mother's  worldly 
wisdom,  she  might  have  been  thoroughly  miserable  ;  and  if, 
for  duty's  sake,  she  had  not  made  every  effort  to  love  her 
husband,  she  would,  doubtless,  have  hated  him  to  the  end  of 
her  days. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

SEPT.  23RD. — Our  guests  arrived  about  three  weeks  ago. 
Lord  and  Lady  Lowborough  have  now  been  married  above 
eight  months  ;  and  I  will  do  the  lady  the  credit  to  say  that 
her  husband  is  quite  an  altered  man ;  his  looks,  his  spirits, 
and  his  temper,  are  all  perceptibly  changed  for  the  better 
since  I  last  saw  him.  But  there  is  room  for  improvement 
still.  He  is  not  always  cheerful,  nor  always  contented,  and 
she  often  complains  of  his  ill-humour,  which,  however,  of  all 
persons,  she  ought  to  be  the  last  to  accuse  him  of,  as  he 
never  displays  it  against  her,  except  for  such  conduct  as 
would  provoke  a  saint.  He  adores  her  still,  and  would  go 
to  the  world's  end  to  please  her.  She  knows  her  power,  and 
she  uses  it  too ;  but  well  knowing  that  to  wheedle  and  coax  is 
safer  than  to  command,  she  judiciously  tempers  her  despotism 
with  flattery  and  blandishments  enough  to  make  him  deem 
himself  a  favoured  and  a  happy  man. 

But  she  has  a  way  of  tormenting  him,  in  which  I  am  a 
fellow-sufferer,  or  might  be,  if  I  chose  to  regard  myself  as 
such.  This  is  by  openly,  but  not  too  glaringly,  coquetting 
with  Mr.  Huntingdon,  who  is  quite  willing  to  be  her  partner 
in  the  game ;  but  I  don't  care  for  it,  because,  with  him,  I 
know  there  is  nothing  but  personal  vanity,  and  a  mischievous 
desire  to  excite  my  jealousy,  and,  perhaps,  to  torment  his 
friend ;  and  she,  no  doubt,  is  actuated  by  much  the  same 
motives :  only,  there  is  more  of  malice  and  less  of  playfulness 


234  THE   TENANT  OF 

in  her  manoeuvres.  It  is  obviously,  therefore,  my  interest  to 
disappoint  them  both,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  by  preserving 
a  cheerful,  undisturbed  serenity  throughout ;  and,  accord- 
ingly, I  endeavour  to  show  the  fullest  confidence  in  my 
husband,  and  the  greatest  indifference  to  the  arts  of  my 
attractive  guest.  I  have  never  reproached  the  former  but 
once,  and  that  was  for  laughing  at  Lord  Lowborough's  de- 
pressed and  anxious  countenance  one  evening,  when  they 
had  both  been  particularly  provoking ;  and  then,  indeed,  I 
said  a  good  deal  on  the  subject,  and  rebuked  him  sternly 
enough  ;  but  he  only  laughed,  and  said, — '  You  can  feel  for 
him,  Helen,  can't  you  ? ' 

1 1  can  feel  for  anyone  that  is  unjustly  treated,'  I  replied, 
'  and  I  can  feel  for  those  that  injure  them  too.' 

'  Why,  Helen,  you  are  as  jealous  as  he  is ! '  cried  he, 
laughing  still  more ;  and  I  found  it  impossible  to  convince 
him  of  his  mistake.  So,  from  that  time,  I  have  carefully 
refrained  from  any  notice  of  the  subject  whatever,  and  left 
Lord  Lowborough  to  take  care  of  himself.  He  either  has 
not  the  sense  or  the  power  to  follow  my  example,  though  he 
does  try  to  conceal  his  uneasiness  as  well  as  he  can  ;  but 
still,  it  will  appear  in  his  face,  and  his  ill-humour  will  peep 
out  at  intervals,  though  not  in  the  expression  of  open  resent- 
ment— they  never  go  far  enough  for  that.  But  I  confess  I 
do  feel  jealous  at  times,  most  painfully,  bitterly  so;  when 
she  sings  and  plays  to  him,  and  he  hangs  over  the  instru- 
ment, and  dwells  upon  her  voice  with  no  affected  interest  ; 
for  then  I  know  he  is  really  delighted,  and  I  have  no  power 
to  awaken  similar  fervour.  I  can  amuse  and  please  him  with 
my  simple  songs,  but  not  delight  him  thus. 

28th. — Yesterday,  we  all  went  to  the  Grove,  Mr. 
Hargrave's  much-neglected  home.  His  mother  frequently 
asks  us  over,  that  she  may  have  the  pleasure  of  her  dear 
Walter's  company ;  and  this  time  she  had  invited  us  to  a 
dinner-party,  and  got  together  as  many  of  the  country  gentry 
as  were  within  reach  to  meet  us.  The  entertainment  was 
very  well  got  up ;  but  I  could  not  help  thinking  about  the 


WILDFELL  HALL  235 

cost  of  it  all  the  time.  I  don't  like  Mrs.  Hargrave ;  she  is 
a  hard,  pretentious,  worldly-minded  woman.  She  has  money 
enough  to  live  very  comfortably,  if  she  only  knew  how  to  use 
it  judiciously,  and  had  taught  her  son  to  do  the  same ;  but 
she  is  ever  straining  to  keep  up  appearances,  with  that  des- 
picable pride  that  shuns  the  semblance  of  poverty  as  of  a 
shameful  crime.  She  grinds  her  dependents,  pinches  her 
servants,  and  deprives  even  her  daughters  and  herself  of  the 
real  comforts  of  life,  because  she  will  not  consent  to  yield  the 
palm  in  outward  show  to  those  who  have  three  times  her 
wealth ;  and,  above  all,  because  she  is  determined  her 
cherished  son  shall  be  enabled  to  '  hold  up  his  head  with  the 
highest  gentlemen  in  the  land.'  This  same  son,  I  imagine,  is 
a  man  of  expensive  habits,  no  reckless  spendthrift  and  no 
abandoned  sensualist,  but  one  who  likes  to  have  '  everything 
handsome  about  him,'  and  to  go  to  a  certain  length  in  youth- 
ful indulgences,  not  so  much  to  gratify  his  own  tastes  as  to 
maintain  his  reputation  as  a  man  of  fashion  in  the  world, 
and  a  respectable  fellow  among  his  own  lawless  companions ; 
while  he  is  too  selfish  to  consider  how  many  comforts  might 
be  obtained  for  his  fond  mother  and  sisters  with  the  money 
he  thus  wastes  upon  himself :  as  long  as  they  can  contrive 
to  make  a  respectable  appearance  once  a  year,  when  they 
come  to  town,  he  gives  himself  little  concern  about  their 
private  stintings  and  struggles  at  home.  This  is  a  harsh 
judgment  to  form  of  '  dear,  noble-minded,  generous-hearted 
Walter,'  but  I  fear  it  is  too  just. 

Mrs.  Hargrave's  anxiety  to  make  good  matches  for  her 
daughters  is  partly  the  cause,  and  partly  the  result,  of  these 
errors  :  by  making  a  figure  in  the  world,  and  showing  them 
off  to  advantage,  she  hopes  to  obtain  better  chances  for  them  ; 
and  by  thus  living  beyond  her  legitimate  means,  and  lavishing 
so  much  on  their  brother,  she  renders  them  portionless,  and 
makes  them  burdens  on  her  hands.  Poor  Milicent,  I  fear, 
has  already  fallen  a  sacrifice  to  the  manceuvrings  of  this 
mistaken  mother,  who  congratulates  herself  on  having  so 
satisfactorily  discharged  her  maternal  duty,  and  hopes  to  do 


236  THE  TENANT  OF 

as  well  for  Esther.  But  Esther  is  a  child  as  yet,  a  little  merry 
romp  of  fourteen :  as  honest-hearted,  and  as  guileless  and 
simple  as  her  sister,  but  with  a  fearless  spirit  of  her  own,  that 
I  fancy  her  mother  will  find  some  difficulty  in  bending  to  her 
purposes. 


CHAPTEE  XXVII 

OCTOBER  OTH. — It  was  on  the  night  of  the  4th,  a  little  after 
tea,  that  Annabella  had  been  singing  and  playing,  with  Arthur 
as  usual  at  her  side  :  she  had  ended  her  song,  but  still  she 
sat  at  the  instrument ;  and  he  stood  leaning  on  the  back  of 
her  chair,  conversing  in  scarcely  audible  tones,  with  his  face 
in  very  close  promixity  with  hers.  I  looked  at  Lord  Low- 
borough.  He  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  talking  with 
Messrs.  Hargrave  and  Grimsby  ;  but  I  saw  him  dart 
towards  his  lady  and  his  host  a  quick,  impatient  glance,  ex- 
pressive of  intense  disquietude,  at  which  Grimsby  smiled. 
Determined  to  interrupt  the  tete-a-tete,  I  rose,  and,  selecting 
a  piece  of  music  from  the  music  stand,  stepped  up  to  the 
piano,  intending  to  ask  the  lady  to  play  it;  but  I  stood 
transfixed  and  speechless  on  seeing  her  seated  there,  listen- 
ing, with  what  seemed  an  exultant  smile  on  her  flushed  face 
to  his  soft  murmurings,  with  her  hand  quietly  surrendered  to 
his  clasp.  The  blood  rushed  first  to  my  heart,  and  then  to 
my  head  ;  for  there  was  more  than  this :  almost  at  the 
moment  of  my  approach,  he  cast  a  hurried  glance  over  his 
shoulder  towards  the  other  occupants  of  the  room,  and  then 
ardently  pressed  the  unresisting  hand  to  his  lips.  On 
raising  his  eyes,  he  beheld  me,  and  dropped  them  again, 
confounded  and  dismayed.  She  saw  me  too,  and  confronted 
me  with  a  look  of  hard  defiance.  I  laid  the  music  on  the 
piano,  and  retired.  I  felt  ill  ;  but  I  did  not  leave  the  room : 
happily,  it  was  getting  late,  and  could  not  be  long  before  the 
company  dispersed. 

I  went  to  the  fire,  and  leant  my  head  against  the  chimney- 


238  THE  TENANT  OF 

piece.  In  a  minute  or  two,  some  one  asked  me  if  I  felt 
unwell.  I  did  not  answer  ;  indeed,  at  the  time,  I  knew  not 
what  was  said  ;  but  I  mechanically  looked  up,  and  saw  Mr. 
Hargrave  standing  beside  me  on  the  rug. 

'  Shall  I  get  you  a  glass  of  wine  ?  '  said  he. 

'  No,  thank  you,'  I  replied  ;  and,  turning  from  him,  I 
looked  round.  Lady  Lowborough  was  beside  her  husband, 
bending  over  him  as  he  sat,  with  her  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
softly  talking  and  smiling  in  his  face ;  and  Arthur  was  at  the 
table,  turning  over  a  book  of  engravings.  I  seated  myself  in 
the  nearest  chair  ;  and  Mr.  Hargrave,  finding  his  services 
were  not  desired,  judiciously  withdrew.  Shortly  after,  the 
company  broke  up,  and,  as  the  guests  were  retiring  to  their 
rooms,  Arthur  approached  me,  smiling  with  the  utmost 
assurance. 

'  Are  you  very  angry,  Helen  ?  '  murmured  he. 

'  This  is  no  jest,  Arthur,'  said  I,  seriously,  but  as  calmly 
as  I  could — '  unless  -you  think  it  a  jest  to  lose  my  affection 
for  ever.' 

'  What !  so  bitter  ?  '  he  exclaimed,  laughingly,  clasping 
my  hand  between  both  his  ;  but  I  snatched  it  away,  in  indig- 
nation— almost  in  disgust,  for  he  was  obviously  affected  with 
wine. 

'  Then  I  must  go  down  on  my  knees,'  said  he  ;  and 
kneeling  before  me,  with  clasped  hands,  uplifted  in  mock 
humiliation,  he  continued  imploringly — '  Forgive  me,  Helen 
— dear  Helen,  forgive  me,  and  I'll  never  do  it  again  ! '  and, 
burying  his  face  in  his  handkerchief,  he  affected  to  sob 
aloud. 

Leaving  him  thus  employed,  I  took  my  candle,  and, 
slipping  quietly  from  the  room,  hastened  up-stairs  as  fast 
as  I  could.  But  he  soon  discovered  that  I  had  left  him, 
and,  rushing  up  after  me,  caught  me  in  his  arms,  just  as  I 
had  entered  the  chamber,  and  was  about  to  shut  the  door  in 
his  face. 

'  No,  no,  by  heaven,  you  sha'n't  escape  me  so ! '  he  cried. 
Then,  alarmed  at  my  agitation,  he  begged  me  not  to  put  my- 


WILDFELL  HALL  239 

self  in  such  a  passion,  telling  me  I  was  white  in  the  face,  and 
should  kill  myself  if  I  did  so. 

'  Let  me  go,  then,'  I  murmured  ;  and  immediately  he 
released  me — and  it  was  well  he  did,  for  I  was  really  in  a 
passion.  I  sank  into  the  easy-chair  and  endeavoured  to 
compose  myself,  for  I  wanted  to  speak  to  him  calmly.  He 
stood  beside  me,  but  did  not  venture  to  touch  me  or  to  speak 
for  a  few  seconds  ;  then,  approaching  a  little  nearer,  he 
dropped  on  one  knee — not  in  mock  humility,  but  to  bring 
himself  nearer  my  level,  and  leaning  his  hand  on  the  arm  of 
the  chair,  he  began  in  a  low  voice  :  '  It  is  all  nonsense, 
Helen — a  jest,  a  mere  nothing — not  worth  a  thought.  Will 
you  never  learn,'  he  continued  more  boldly,  '  that  you  have 
nothing  to  fear  from  me?  that  I  love  you  wholly  and 
entirely  ? — or  if,'  he  added  with  a  lurking  smile,  '  I  ever  give 
a  thought  to  another,  you  may  well  spare  it,  for  those  fancies 
are  here  and  gone  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  while  my  love  for 
you  burns  on  steadily,  and  for  ever,  like  the  sun.  You  little 
exorbitant  tyrant,  will  not  that ? ' 

'  Be  quiet  a  moment,  will  you,  Arthur  ? '  said  I,  '  and 
listen  to  me — and  don't  think  I'm  in  a  jealous  fury  :  I  am 
perfectly  calm.  Feel  my  hand.'  And  I  gravely  extended  it 
towards  him — but  closed  it  upon  his  with  an  energy  that 
seemed  to  disprove  the  assertion,  and  made  him  smile. 
'  You  needn't  smile,  sir,'  said  I,  still  tightening  my  grasp, 
and  looking  steadfastly  on  him  till  he  almost  quailed  before 
me.  '  You  may  think  it  all  very  fine,  Mr.  Huntingdon,  to 
amuse  yourself  with  rousing  my  jealousy ;  but  take  care  you 
don't  rouse  my  hate  instead.  And  when  you  have  once  ex- 
tinguished my  love,  you  will  find  it  no  easy  matter  to  kindle 
it  again.' 

'  Well,  Helen,  I  won't  repeat  the  offence.  But  I  meant 
nothing  by  it,  I  assure  you.  I  had  taken  too  much  wine, 
and  I  was  scarcely  myself  at  the  time.' 

'  You  often  take  too  much ;  and  that  is  another  practice  I 
detest.'  He  looked  up  astonished  at  my  warmth.  '  Yes,'  I 
continued;  'I  never  mentioned  it  before,  because  I  was 


240  THE  TENANT  OP 

ashamed  to  do  so ;  but  now  I'll  tell  you  that  it  distresses  me, 
and  may  disgust  me,  if  you  go  on  and  suffer  the  habit  to 
grow  upon  you,  as  it  will  if  you  don't  check  it  in  time.  But 
the  whole  system  of  your  conduct  to  Lady  Lowborough  is 
not  referable  to  wine ;  and  this  night  you  knew  perfectly 
well  what  you  were  doing.' 

'  Well,  I'm  sorry  for  it,'  replied  he,  with  more  of  sulkiness 
than  contrition  :  '  what  more  would  you  have  ?  ' 

'  You  are  sorry  that  I  saw  you,  no  doubt,'  I  answered 
coldly. 

'  If  you  had  not  seen  me,'  he- muttered,  fixing  his  eyes  on 
the  carpet,  'it  would  have  done  no  harm.' 

My  heart  felt  ready  to  burst ;  but  I  resolutely  swallowed 
back  my  emotion,  and  answered  calmly, 

'  You  think  not  ?  ' 

'  No,'  replied  he,  boldly.  '  After  all,  what  have  I  done  ? 
It's  nothing — except  as  you  choose  to  make  it  a  subject  of 
accusation  and  distress.' 

'  What  would  Lord  Lowborough,  your  friend,  think,  if  he 
knew  all  ?  or  what  would  you  yourself  think,  if  he  or  any 
other  had  acted  the  same  part  to  me,  throughout,  as  you 
have  to  Annabella  ?  ' 

'  I  would  blow  his  brains  out.' 

'Well,  then,  Arthur,  how  can  you  call  it  nothing — an 
offence  for  which  you  would  think  yourself  justified  in  blow- 
ing another  man's  brains  out?  Is  it  nothing  to  trifle  with 
your  friend's  feelings  and  mine — to  endeavour  to  steal  a 
woman's  affections  from  her  husband — what  he  values 
more  than  his  gold,  and  therefore  what  it  is  more  dishonest 
to  take  ?  Are  the  marriage  vows  a  jest  ;  and  is  it  nothing 
to  make  it  your  sport  to  break  them,  and  to  tempt  another 
to  do  the  same  ?  Can  I  love  a  man  that  does  such  things, 
and  coolly  maintains  it  is  nothing  ? ' 

1  You  are  breaking  your  marriage  vows  yourself,'  said  he, 
indignantly  rising  and  pacing  to  and  fro.  '  You  promised  to 
honour  and  obey  me,  and  now  you  attempt  to  hector  over 
me,  and  threaten  and  accuse  me,  and  call  me  worse  than  a 


WILDFELL  HALL  241 

highwayman.  If  it  were  not  for  your  situation,  Helen,  I 
would  not  submit  to  it  so  tamely.  I  won't  be  dictated  to  by 
a  woman,  though  she  be  my  wife.' 

'  What  will  you  do  then  ?  Will  you  go  on  till  I  hate  you, 
and  then  accuse  me  of  breaking  my  vows  ?  ' 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  replied  :  '  You  never 
will  hate  me.'  Eeturning  and  resuming  his  former  position 
at  my  feet,  he  repeated  more  vehemently — 'You  cannot 
hate  me  as  long  as  I  love  you.' 

'  But  how  can  I  believe  that  you  love  me,  if  you  con- 
tinue to  act  in  this  way?  Just  imagine  yourself  in  my 
place  :  would  you  think  I  loved  you,  if  I  did  so  ?  Would 
you  believe  my  protestations,  and  honour  and  trust  me 
under  such  circumstances  ?  ' 

' The  cases  are  different,'  he  replied.  'It  is  a  woman's 
nature  to  be  constant — to  love  one  and  one  only,  blindly, 
tenderly,  and  for  ever — bless  them,  dear  -creatures  !  and  you 
above  them  all ;  but  you  must  have  some  commiseration  for 
us,  Helen ;  you  must  give  us  a  little  more  licence,  for,  as 
Shakespeare  has  it — 

However  we  do  praise  ourselves, 
Our  fancies  are  more  giddy  and  unfinn, 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  won 
Than  women's  are.' 

'  Do  you  mean  by  that,  that  your  fancies  are  lost  to  me, 
and  won  by  Lady  Lowborough  ?  ' 

'  No !  heaven  is  my  witness  that  I  think  her  mere  dust  and 
ashes  in  comparison  with  you,  and  shall  continue  to  think  so, 
unless  you  drive  me  from  you  by  too  much  severity.  She  is 
a  daughter  of  earth ;  you  are  an  angel  of  heaven ;  only  be 
not  too  austere  in  your  divinity,  and  remember  that  I  am  a 
poor,  fallible  mortal.  Come  now,  Helen  ;  won't  you  forgive 
me  ? '  he  said,  gently  taking  my  hand,  and  looking  up  with  an 
innocent  smile. 

'  If  I  do,  you  will  repeat  the  offence.' 


242  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  I  swear  by ' 

'  Don't  swear  ;  I'll  believe  your  word  as  well  as  your 
oath.  I  wish  I  could  have  confidence  in  either.' 

'  Try  me,  then,  Helen  :  only  trust  and  pardon  me  this 
once,  and  you  shall  see  1  Come,  I  am  in  hell's  torments  till 
you  speak  the  word.' 

I  did  not  speak  it,  but  I  put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder  and 
kissed  his  forehead,  and  then  burst  into  tears.  He  embraced 
me  tenderly ;  and  we  have  been  good  friends  ever  since. 
He  has  been  decently  temperate  at  table,  and  well-con- 
ducted towards  Lady  Lowborough.  The  first  day  he  held 
himself  aloof  from  her,  as  far  as  he  could  without  any 
flagrant  breach  of  hospitality  :  since  that  he  has  been 
friendly  and  civil,  but  nothing  more — in  my  presence,  at 
least,  nor,  I  think,  at  any  other  time ;  for  she  seems  haughty 
and  displeased,  and  Lord  Lowborough  is  manifestly  more 
cheerful,  and  more  cordial  towards  his  host  than  before. 
But  I  shall  be  glad  when  they  are  gone,  for  I  have  so  little 
love  for  Annabella  that  it  is  quite  a  task  to  be  civil  to  her, 
and  as  she  is  the  only  woman  here  besides  myself,  we  are 
necessarily  thrown  so  much  together.  Next  time  Mrs.  Har- 
grave  calls  I  shall  hail  her  advent  as  quite  a  relief.  I  have  a 
good  mind  to  ask  Arthur's  leave  to  invite  the  old  lady  to  stay 
with  us  till  our  guests  depart.  I  think  I  will.  She  will 
take  it  as  a  kind  attention,  and,  though  I  have  little  relish  for 
her  society,  she  will  be  truly  welcome  as  a  third  to  stand 
between  Lady  Lowborough  and  me. 

The  first  time  the  latter  and  I  were  alone  together,  after 
that  unhappy  evening,  was  an  hour  or  two  after  breakfast  on 
the  following  day,  when  the  gentlemen  were  gone  out,  after 
the  usual  time  spent  in  the  writing  of  letters,  the  reading  of 
newspapers,  and  desultory  conversation.  We  sat  silent  for 
two  or  three  minutes.  She  was  busy  with  her  work,  and  I 
was  running  over  the  columns  of  a  paper  from  which  I  had 
extracted  all  the  pith  some  twenty  minutes  before.  It  was 
a  moment  of  painful  embarrassment  to  me,  and  I  thought  it 
must  be  infinitely  more  so  to  her  ;  but  it  seems  I  was  mis- 


WILDFELL  HALL  243 

taken.  She  was  the  first  to  speak ;  and,  smiling  with  the 
coolest  assurance,  she  began, — 

'  Your  husband  was  merry  last  night,  Helen  :  is  he  often 
so?  ' 

My  blood  boiled  in  my  face;  but  it  was  better  she 
should  seem  to  attribute  his  conduct  to  this  than  to  anything 
else. 

'  No,'  replied  I,  '  and  never  will  be  so  again,  I  trust.' 

'  You  gave  him  a  curtain  lecture,  did  you  ? ' 

'  No  !  but  I  told  him  I  disliked  such  conduct,  and  he 
promised  me  not  to  repeat  it.' 

'  I  thought  he  looked  rather  subdued  this  morning,'  she 
continued ;  '  and  you,  Helen  ?  you've  been  weeping,  I  see — 
that's  our  grand  resource,  you  know.  But  doesn't  it  make 
your  eyes  smart  ?  and  do  you  always  find  it  to  answer  ? ' 

'  I  never  cry  for  effect ;  nor  can  I  conceive  how  any  one 
can.' 

'  Well,  I  don't  know  :  I  never  had  occasion  to  try  it ;  but 
I  think  if  Lowborough  were  to  commit  such  improprieties, 
I'd  make  him  cry.  I  don't  wonder  at  your  being  angry,  for 
I'm  sure  I'd  give  my  husband  a  lesson  he  would  not  soon 
forget  for  a  lighter  offence  than  that.  But  then  he  never 
will  do  anything  of  the  kind ;  for  I  keep  him  in  too  good 
order  for  that.' 

'  Are  you  sure  you  don't  arrogate  too  much  of  the  credit 
to  yourself.  Lord  Lowborough  was  quite  as  remarkable  for 
his  abstemiousness  for  some  time  before  you  married  him,  as 
he  is  now,  I  have  heard.' 

'  Oh,  about  the  wine  you  mean — yes,  he's  safe  enough  for 
that.  And  as  to  looking  askance  to  another  woman,  he's 
safe  enough  for  that  too,  while  I  live,  for  he  worships  the 
very  ground  I  tread  on.' 

'  Indeed  !  and  are  you  sure  you  deserve  it  ? ' 

'  Why,  as  to  that,  I  can't  say :  you  know  we're  all  fallible 
creatures,  Helen  ;  we  none  of  us  deserve  to  be  worshipped. 
But  are  you  sure  your  darling  Huntingdon  deserves  all  the 
love  you  give  to  him  ? ' 


244  THE   TENANT   OP 

I  knew  not  what  to  answer  to  this.  I  was  burning  with 
anger;  but  I  suppressed  all  outward  manifestations  of  it» 
and  only  bit  my  lip  and  pretended  to  arrange  my  work. 

'  At  any  rate/  resumed  she,  pursuing  her  advantage,  '  you 
can  console  yourself  with  the  assurance  that  you  are  worthy 
of  all  the  love  he  gives  to  you.' 

1  You  flatter  me,'  said  I ;  '  but,  at  least,  I  can  try  to  be 
worthy  of  it."  And  then  I  turned  the  conversation. 


CHAPTEK  XX.VIII 

DECEMBER  25TH. — Last  Christmas  I  was  a  bride,  with  a 
heart  overflowing  with  present  bliss,  and  full  of  ardent  hopes 
for  the  future,  though  not  unmingled  with  foreboding  fears. 
Now  I  am  a  wife :  my  bliss  is  sobered,  but  not  destroyed ; 
my  hopes  diminished,  but  not  departed ;  my  fears  increased, 
but  not  yet  thoroughly  confirmed  ;  and,  thank  heaven,  I  am 
a  mother  too.  God  has  sent  me  a  soul  to  educate  for  heaven, 
and  give  me  a  new  and  calmer  bliss,  and  stronger  hopes  to 
comfort  me. 

Dec.  25th,  1823. — Another  year  is  gone.  My  little  Arthur 
lives  and  thrives.  He  is  healthy,  but  not  robust,  full  of 
gentle  playfulness  and  vivacity,  already  affectionate,  and 
susceptible  of  passions  and  emotions  it  will  be  long  ere  he 
can  find  words  to  express.  He  has  won  his  father's  heart 
at  last ;  and  now  my  constant  terror  is,  lest  he  should  be 
ruined  by  that  father's  thoughtless  indulgence.  But  I  must 
beware  of  my  own  weakness  too,  for  I  never  knew  till  now 
how  strong  are  a  parent's  temptations  to  spoil  an  only 
child. 

I  have  need  of  consolation  in  my  son,  for  (to  this  silent 
paper  I  may  confess  it)  I  have  but  little  in  my  husband.  I 
love  him  still ;  and  he  loves  me,  in  his  own  way — but  oh, 
how  different  from  the  love  I  could  have  given,  and  once 
had  hoped  to  receive  !  How  little  real  sympathy  there  exists 
between  us  ;  how  many  of  my  thoughts  and  feelings  are 
gloomily  cloistered  within  my  own  mind  ;  how  much  of  my 
higher  and  better  self  is  indeed  unmarried — doomed  either 
to  harden  and  sour  in  the  sunless  shade  of  solitude,  or  to 
quite  degenerate  and  fall  away  for  lack  of  nutriment  in  this 


246  THE   TENANT  OF 

unwholesome  soil !  But,  I  repeat,  I  have  no  right  to  com- 
plain; only  let  me  state  the  truth — some  of  the  truth,  at 
least, — and  see  hereafter  if  any  darker  truths  will  blot  these 
pages.  We  have  now  been  full  two  years  united ;  the 
'  romance '  of  our  attachment  must  be  worn  away.  Surely 
I  have  now  got  down  to  the  lowest  gradation  in  Arthur's 
affection,  and  discovered  all  the  evils  of  his  nature  :  if  there 
be  any  further  change,  if  must  be  for 'the  better,  as  we  become 
still  more  accustomed  to  each  other ;  surely  we  shall  find  no 
lower  depth  than  this.  And,  if  so,  I  can  bear  it  well — as 
well,  at  least,  as  I  have  borne  it  hitherto. 

Arthur  is  not  what  is  commonly  called  a  bad  man :  he 
has  many  good  qualities ;  but  he  is  a  man  without  self- 
restraint  or  lofty  aspirations,  a  lover  of  pleasure,  given  up  to 
animal  enjoyments  :  he  is  not  a  bad  husband,  but  his  notions 
of  matrimonial  duties  and  comforts  are  not  my  notions. 
Judging  from  appearances,  his  idea  of  a  wife  is  a  thing  to 
love  one  devotedly,  and  to  stay  at  home  to  wait  upon  her 
husband,  and  amuse  him  and  minister  to  his  comfort  in 
every  possible  way,  while  he  chooses  to  stay  with  her  ;  and, 
when  he  is  absent,  to  attend  to  his  interests,  domestic  or 
otherwise,  and  patiently  wait  his  return,  no  matter  how  he 
may  be  occupied  in  the  meantime. 

Early  in  spring  he  announced  his  intention  of  going  to 
London :  his  affairs  there  demanded  his  attendance,  he  said, 
and  he  could  refuse  it  no  longer.  He  expressed  his  regret  at 
having  to  leave  me,  but  hoped  I  would  amuse  myself  with 
the  baby  till  he  returned. 

'  But  why  leave  me  ? '  I  said.  '  I  can  go  with  you :  I  can 
be  ready  at  any  time.' 

'  You  would  not  take  that  child  to  town  ? ' 

'  Yes ;  why  not  ?  ' 

The  thing  was  absurd :  the  air  of  the  town  would  be 
certain  to  disagree  with  him,  and  with  me  as  a  nurse  ;  the 
late  hours  and  London  habits  would  not  suit  me  under  such 
circumstances  ;  and  altogether  he  assured  me  that  it  would 
be  excessively  troublesome,  injurious,  ancl  unsafe-  I  over- 


WILDFELL  HALL  247 

ruled  his  objections  as  well  as  I  could,  for  I  trembled  at  the 
thoughts  of  his  going  alone,  and  would  sacrifice  almost  any- 
thing for  myself,  much  even  for  my  child,  to  prevent  it ;  but 
at  length  he  told  me,  plainly,  and  somewhat  testily,  that  he 
could  not  do  with  me  :  he  was  worn  out  with  the  baby's  rest- 
less nights,  and  must  have  some  repose.  I  proposed  separate 
apartments ;  but  it  would  not  do. 

'  The  truth  is,  Arthur,'  I  said  at  last,  '  you  are  weary  of 
my  company,  and  determined  not  to  have  me  with  you.  You 
might  as  well  have  said  so  at  once.' 

He  denied  it ;  but  I  immediately  left  the  room,  and  flew 
to  the  nursery,  to  hide  my  feelings,  if  I  could  not  soothe  them, 
there. 

I  was  too  much  hurt  to  express  any  further  dissatisfaction 
with  his  plans,  or  at  all  to  refer  to  the  subject  again,  except 
for  the  necessary  arrangements  concerning  his  departure  and 
the  conduct  of  affairs  during  his  absence,  till  the  day  before 
he  went,   when  I  earnestly  exhorted   him  to   take  care   of 
himself  and  keep  out  of  the  way  of  temptation.     He  laughed 
at  my  anxiety,  but  assured  me  there  was  no  cause  for  it,  and 
promised  to  attend  to  my  advice. 

'  I  suppose  it  is  no  use  asking  you  to  fix  a  day  for  your 
return  ?  '  said  I. 

'  Why,  no ;  I  hardly  can,  under  the  circumstances  ;  but 
be  assured,  love,  I  shall  not  be  long  away.' 

I 1  don't  wish  to  keep  you  a  prisoner  at  home,'  I  replied ; 
'  I  should  not  grumble  at  your  staying  whole  months  away — 
if  you  can  be  happy  so  long  without  me — provided  I  knew 
you  were  safe  ;  but  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  your  being  there 
among  your  friends,  as  you  call  them.' 

'  Pooh,  pooh,  you  silly  girl !  Do  you  think  I  can't  take 
care  of  myself  ? ' 

1  You  didn't  last  time.  But  THIS  time,  Arthur,'  I  added, 
earnestly,  '  show  me  that  you  can,  and  teach  me  that  I  need 
not  fear  to  trust  you  ! ' 

He  promised  fair,  but  in  such  a  manner  as  we  seek  to 
soothe  a  child.  And  did  he  keep  his  promise  ?  No ;  and 


248  THE   TENANT  OF 

henceforth  I  can  never  trust  his  word.  Bitter,  bitter  con- 
fession !  Tears  blind  me  while  I  write.  It  was  early  in 
March  that  he  went,  and  he  did  not  return  till  July.  This 
time  he  did  not  trouble  himself  to  make  excuses  as  before, 
and  his  letters  were  less  frequent,  and  shorter  and  less 
affectionate,  especially  after  the  first  few  weeks :  they  came 
slower  and  slower,  and  more  terse  and  careless  every  time. 
But  still,  when  I  omitted  writing,  he  complained  of  my 
neglect.  When  I  wrote  sternly  and  coldly,  as  I  confess  I 
frequently  did  at  the  last,  he  blamed  my  harshness,  and  said 
it  was  enough  to  scare  him  from  his  home :  when  I  tried 
mild  persuasion,  he  was  a  little  more  gentle  in  his  replies, 
and  promised  to  return  ;  but  I  had  learnt,  at  last,  to  disregard 
his  promises. 


CHAPTEE  XXIX 

THOSE  were  four  miserable  months,  alternating  between 
intense  anxiety,  despair,  and  indignation,  pity  for  him  and 
pity  for  myself.  And  yet,  through  all,  I  was  not  wholly 
comfortless :  I  had  my  darling,  sinless,  inoffensive  little  one 
to  console  me;  but  even  this  consolation  was  embittered 
by  the  constantly-recurring  thought,  '  How  shall  I  teach 
him  hereafter  to  respect  his  father,  and  yet  to  avoid 
his  example  ? ' 

But  I  remembered  that  I  had  brought  all  these  afflictions, 
in  a  manner  wilfully,  upon  myself ;  and  I  determined  to 
bear  them  without  a  murmur.  At  the  same  time  I  resolved 
not  to  give  myself  up  to  misery  for  the  transgressions 
of  another,  and  endeavoured  to  divert  myself  as  much  as  I 
could  ;  and  besides  the  companionship  of  my  child,  and  my 
dear,  faithful  Eachel,  who  evidently  guessed  my  sorrows 
and  felt  for  them,  though  she  was  too  discreet  to  allude  to 
them,  I  had  my  books  and  pencil,  my  domestic  affairs,  and 
the  welfare  and  comfort  of  Arthur's  poor  tenants  and  labourers 
to  attend  to :  and  I  sometimes  sought  and  obtained  amuse- 
ment in  the  company  of  my  young  friend  Esther  Hargrave  : 
occasionally  I  rode  over  to  see  her,  and  once  or  twice  I  had 
her  to  spend  the  day  with  me  at  the  Manor.  Mrs.  Hargrave 
did  not  visit  London  that  season :  having  no  daughter  to 
marry,  she  thought  it  as  well  to  stay  at  home  and 
economise  ;  and,  for  a  wonder,  Walter  came  down  to  join 
her  in  the  beginning  of  June,  and  stayed  till  near  the  close 
of  August. 

The  first  time  I  saw  him  was  on  a  sweet,  warm  evening, 


250  THE   TENANT  OF 

when  I  was  sauntering  in  the  park  with  little  Arthur  and 
Rachel,  who   is   head-nurse   and   lady's-maid   in   one — for, 
with  my  secluded  life  and  tolerably  active  habits,  I  require 
but  little  attendance,  and  as  she  had  nursed  me  and  coveted 
to  nurse  my  child,  and  was  moreover  so  very  trustworthy, 
I  preferred  committing  the  important  charge  to  her,  with  a 
young  nursery-maid  under  her  directions,  to  engaging  any 
one  else :  besides,  it  saves  money ;  and  since  I  have  made 
acquaintance  with  Arthur's  affairs,  I  have  learnt  to  regard 
that  as  no  trifling  recommendation ;  for,  by  my  own  desire, 
nearly  the  whole  of  the  income  of  my  fortune  is  devoted,  for 
years  to  come,  to  the  paying  off  of  his  debts,  and  the  money 
he  contrives  to  squander  away  in   London  is  incompre- 
hensible.    But  to  return  to  Mr.  Hargrave.     I  was  standing 
with  Eachel  beside  the  water,  amusing  the  laughing  baby 
in  her  arms  with  a  twig  of  willow  laden  with  golden  catkins, 
when,  greatly  to  my  surprise,  he  entered  the  park,  mounted 
on  his  costly  black  hunter,  and  crossed  over  the  grass   to 
meet  me.     He  saluted  me  with  a  very  fine  compliment, 
delicately  worded,  and  modestly  delivered  withal,  which  he 
had  doubtless  concocted  as  he  rode  along.     He  told  me  he 
had  brought  a  message  from  his  mother,  who,  as  he   was 
riding  that  way,  had  desired  him  to  call  at  the  Manor  and 
beg  the  pleasure  of  my  company  to  a  friendly  family  dinner 
to-morrow. 

1  There  is  no  one  to  meet  but  ourselves,'  said  he ;  '  but 
Esther  is  very  anxious  to  see  you  ;  and  my  'mother  fears  you 
will  feel  solitary  in  this  great  house  so  much  alone,  and 
wishes  she  could  persuade  you  to  give  her  the  pleasure  of 
your  company  more  frequently,  and  make  yourself  at  home 
in  our  more  humble  dwelling,  till  Mr.  Huntingdon's  return 
shall  render  this  a  little  more  conducive  to  your  comfort.' 

'  She  is  very  kind,'  I  answered,  '  but  I  am  not  alone,  you 
see ; — and  those  whose  time  is  fully  occupied  seldom  com- 
plain of  solitude.' 

'  Will  you  not  come  to-morrow,  then  ?  She  will  be  sadly 
disappointed  if  you  refuse.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  251 

I  did  not  relish  being  thus  compassionated  for  my 
loneliness  ;  but,  however,  I  promised  to  come. 

'  What  a  sweet  evening  this  is ! '  observed  he,  looking 
round  upon  the  sunny  park,  with  its  imposing  swell  and 
slope,  its  placid  water,  and  majestic  clumps  of  trees.  '  And 
what  a  paradise  you  live  in ! ' 

'  It  is  a  lovely  evening,'  answered  I ;  and  I  sighed  to 
think  how  little  I  had  felt  its  loveliness,  and  how  little  of  a 
paradise  sweet  Grassdale  was  to  me — how  still  less  to  the 
voluntary  exile  from  its  scenes.  Whether  Mr.  Hargrave 
divined  my  thoughts,  I  cannot  tell,  but,  with  a  half- 
hesitating,  sympathising  seriousness  of  tone  and  manner, 
he  asked  if  I  had  lately  heard  from  Mr.  Huntingdon. 

'  Not  lately,'  I  replied. 

'I  thought  not,'  he  muttered,  as  if  to  himself,  looking 
thoughtfully  on  the  ground. 

'  Are  you  not  lately  returned  from  London  ? '  I  asked. 

'  Only  yesterday.' 

'  And  did  you  see  him  there  ?  ' 

'  Yes — I  saw  him.' 

'  Was  he  well  ? ' 

'  Yes — that  is,'  said  he,  with  increasing  hesitation  and  an 
appearance  of  suppressed  indignation,  '  he  was  as  well  as — 
as  he  deserved  to  be,  but  under  circumstances  I  should  have 
deemed  incredible  for  a  man  so  favoured  as  he  is.'  He 
here  looked  up  and  pointed  the  sentence  with  a  serious  bow 
to  me.  I  suppose  my  face  was  crimson. 

'  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,'  he  continued,  '  but 
I  cannot  suppress  my  indignation  when  I  behold  such 
infatuated  blindness  and  perversion  of  taste  ; — but,  perhaps, 
you  are  not  aware '  He  paused. 

'  I  am  aware  of  nothing,  sir — except  that  he  delays  his 
coming  longer  than  I  expected ;  and  if,  at  present,  he  prefers 
the  society  of  his  friends  to  that  of  his  wife,  and  the  dissipa- 
tions of  the  town  to  the  quiet  of  country  life,  I  suppose  I 
have  those  friends  to  thank  for  it.  Their  tastes  and 
occupations  are  similar  to  his,  and  I  don't  see  why 


252  THE   TENANT  OF 

his  conduct  should  awaken  either  their  indignation  or 
surprise.' 

'  You  wrong  me  cruelly,'  answered  he.  '  I  have  shared 
but  little  of  Mr.  Huntingdon's  society  for  the  last  few  weeks ; 
and  as  for  his  tastes  and  occupations,  they  are  quite  beyond 
me — lonely  wanderer  as  I  am.  Where  I  have  but  sipped 
and  tasted,  he  drains  the  cup  to  the  dregs ;  and  if  ever  for 
a  moment  I  have  sought  to  drown  the  voice  of  reflection  in 
madness  and  folly,  or  if  I  have  wasted  too  much  of  my  time 
and  talents  among  reckless  and  dissipated  companions,  God 
knows  I  would  gladly  renounce  them  entirely  and  for  ever, 
if  I  had  but  half  the  blessings  that  man  so  thanklessly  casts 
behind  his  back — but  half  the  inducements  to  virtue  and 
domestic,  orderly  habits  that  he  despises — but  such  a  home, 
and  such  a  partner  to  share  it !  It  is  infamous !  '  he 
muttered,  between  his  teeth.  '  '  And  don't  think,  Mrs.  Hunt- 
ingdon,' he  added  aloud,  '  that  I  could  be  guilty  of  inciting 
him  to  persevere  in  his  present  pursuits  :  on  the  contrary, 
I  have  remonstrated  with  him  again  and  again  ;  I  have  fre- 
quently expressed  my  surprise  at  his  conduct,  and  reminded 
him  of  his  duties  and  his  privileges — but  to  no  purpose ;  he 
only ' 

'  Enough,  Mr.  Hargrave ;  you  ought  to  be  aware  that 
whatever  my  husband's  faults  may  be,  it  can  only  aggravate 
the  evil  for  me  to  hear  them  from  a  stranger's  lips.' 

'  Am  I  then  a  stranger  ? '  said  he  in  a  sorrowful  tone.  '  I 
am  your  nearest  neighbour,  your  son's  godfather,  and  your 
husband's  friend ;  may  I  not  be  yours  also  ? ' 

'  Intimate  acquaintance  must  precede  real  friendship ;  I 
know  but  little  of  you,  Mr.  Hargrave,  except  from  report.' 

'  Have  you  then  forgotten  the  six  or  seven  weeks  I  spent 
under  your  roof  last  autumn  ?  I  have  not  forgotten  them. 
And  I  know  enough  of  you,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  to  think  that 
your  husband  is  the  most  enviable  man  in  the  world,  and  I 
should  be  the  next  if  you  would  deem  me  worthy  of  your 
friendship.' 

'  If  you  knew  more  of  me,  you  would  not  think  it,  or  if 


WILDFELL   HALL  253 

you  did  you  would  not  say  it,  and  expect  me  to  be  flattered 
by  the  compliment.' 

I  stepped  backward  as  I  spoke.  He  saw  that  I  wished 
the  conversation  to  end ;  and  immediately  taking  the  hint, 
he  gravely  bowed,  wished  me  good-evening,  and  turned  his 
horse  towards  the  road.  He  appeared  grieved  and  hurt  at 
my  unkind  reception  of  his  sympathising  overtures.  I  was 
not  sure  that  I  had  done  right  in  speaking  so  harshly  to  him  ; 
but,  at  the  time,  I  had  felt  irritated — almost  insulted  by  his 
conduct ;  it  seemed  as  if  he  was  presuming  upon  the  absence 
and  neglect  of  my  husband,  and  insinuating  even  more  than 
the  truth  against  him. 

Eachel  had  moved  on,  during  our  conversation,  to  some 
yards'  distance.  He  rode  up  to  her,  and  asked  to  see  the 
child.  He  took  it  carefully  into  his  arms,  looked  upon  it 
with  an  almost  paternal  smile,  and  I  heard  him  say,  as  I 
approached, — 

'  And  this,  too,  he  has  forsaken  ! 

He  then  tenderly  kissed  it,  and  restored  it  to  the  gratified 
nurse. 

'  Are  you  fond  of  children,  Mr.  Hargrave  ? '  said  I,  a  little 
softened  towards  him. 

'  Not  in  general,'  he  replied,  '  but  that  is  such  a  sweet 
child,  and  so  like  its  mother,'  he  added  in  a  lower  tone. 

'  You  are  mistaken  there  ;  it  is  its  father  it  resembles.' 

'  Am  I  not  right,  nurse  ? '  said  he,  appealing  to  Eachel. 

'  I  think,  sir,  there's  a  bit  of  both,'  she  replied. 

He  departed ;  and  Eachel  pronounced  him  a  very  nice 
gentleman.  I  had  still  my  doubts  on  the  subject. 

In  the  course  of  the  following  six  weeks  I  met  him 
several  times,  but  always,  save  once,  in  company  with  his 
mother,  or  his  sister,  or  both.  When  I  called  on  them,  he 
always  happened  to  be  at  home,  and,  when  they  called  on  me, 
it  was  always  he  that  drove  them  over  in  the  phaeton.  His 
mother,  evidently,  was  quite  delighted  with  his  dutiful 
attentions  and  newly- acquired  domestic  habits. 

The  time  that  I  met  him  alone  was  on  a  bright,  but  not 


254  THE  TENANT  OF 

oppressively  hot  day,  in  the  beginning  of  July  :  I  had  taken 
little  Arthur  into  the  wood  that  skirts  the  park,  and  there 
seated  him  on  the  moss-cushioned  roots  of  an  old  oak ;  and, 
having  gathered  a  handful  of  bluebells  and  wild-roses,  I  was 
kneeling  before  him,  and  presenting  them,  one  by  one,  to  the 
grasp  of  his  tiny  fingers  ;  enjoying  the  heavenly  beauty  of 
the  flowers,  through  the  medium  of  his  smiling  eyes : 
forgetting,  for  the  moment,  all  my  cares,  laughing  at  his 
gleeful  laughter,  and  delighting  myself  with  his  delight, — 
when  a  shadow  suddenly  eclipsed  the  little  space  of  sunshine 
on  the  grass  before  us  ;  and  looking  up,  I  beheld  Walter 
Hargrave  standing  and  gazing  upon  us. 

'  Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,'  said  he,  '  but  I  was  spell- 
bound; I  had  neither  the  power  to  come  forward  and 
interrupt  you,  nor  to  withdraw  from  the  contemplation  of 
such  a  scene.  How  vigorous  my  little  godson  grows  !  and 
how  merry  he  is  this  morning  ! '  He  approached  the  child, 
and  stooped  to  take  his  hand ;  but,  on  seeing  that  his 
caresses  were  likely  to  produce  tears  and  lamentations, 
instead  of  a  reciprocation  of  friendly  demonstrations,  he 
prudently  drew  back. 

'  What  a  pleasure  and  comfort  that  little  creature  must 
be  to  you,  Mrs.  Huntingdon  !  '  he  observed,  with  a  touch  of 
sadness  in  his  intonation,  as  he  admiringly  contemplated  the 
infant. 

'  It  is,'  replied  I ;  and  then  I  asked  after  his  mother  and 
sister. 

He  politely  answered  my  inquiries,  and  then  returned 
again  to  the  subject  I  wished  to  avoid ;  though  with  a 
degree  of  timidity  that  witnessed  his  fear  to  offend. 

'  You  have  not  heard  from  Huntingdon  lately  ? '  he 
said. 

'  Not  this  week,'  I  replied.  Not  these  three  weeks,  I 
might  have  said. 

'  I  had  a  letter  from  him  this  morning.  I  wish  it  were 
such  a  one  as  I  could  show  to  his  lady.'  He  half  drew 
from  his  waistcoat-pocket  a  letter  with  Arthur's  still  beloved 


WILDFELL  HALL  255 

/ 

hand  on  the  address,  scowled  at  it,  and  put  it  back  again, 
adding — 'But  he  tells  me  he  is  about  to  return  next 
week.' 

'  He  tells  me  so  every  time  he  writes.' 

'  Indeed  !  well,  it  is  like  him.  But  to  me  he  always 
avowed  it  his  intention  to  stay  till  the  present  month.' 

It  struck  me  like  a  blow,  this  proof  of  premeditated 
transgression  and  systematic  disregard  of  truth. 

'  It  is  only  of  a  piece  with  the  rest  of  his  conduct,' 
observed  Mr.  Hargrave,  thoughtfully  regarding  me,  and 
reading,  I  suppose,  my  feelings  in  my  face. 

1  Then  he  is  really  coming  next  week  ? '  said  I,  after  a 
pause. 

'  You  may  rely  upon  it,  if  the  assurance  can  give  you 
any  pleasure.  And  is  it  possible,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  that  you 
can  rejoice  at  his  return  ? '  he  exclaimed,  attentively  perusing 
my  features  again. 

'  Of  course,  Mr.  Hargrave ;  is  he  not  my  husband  ? ' 

'  Oh,  Huntingdon ;  you  know  not  what  you  slight ! '  he 
passionately  murmured. 

I  took  up  my  baby,  and,  wishing  him  good-morning, 
departed,  to  indulge  my  thoughts  unscrutinized,  within  the 
sanctum  of  my  home. 

And  was  I  glad  ?  Yes,  delighted ;  though  I  was 
angered  by  Arthur's  conduct,  and  though  I  felt  that  he 
had  wronged  me,  and  was  determined  he  should  feel  it 
too. 


CHAPTEE  XXX 

ON  the  following  morning  I  received  a  few  lines  from  him 
myself,  confirming  Hargrave's  intimations  respecting  his 
approaching  return.  And  he  did  come  next  week,  but  in  a 
condition  of  body  and  mind  even  worse  than  before.  I  did 
not,  however,  intend  to  pass  over  his  derelictions  this  time 
without  a  remark ;  I  found  it  would  not  do.  But  the  first 
day  he  was  weary  with  his  journey,  and  I  was  glad  to  get 
him  back :  I  would  not  upbraid  him  then  ;  I  would  wait  till 
to-morrow.  Next  morning  he  was  weary  still :  I  would  wait 
a  little  longer.  But  at  dinner,  when,  after  breakfasting  at 
twelve  o'clock  on  a  bottle  of  soda-water  and  a  cup  of  strong 
coffee,  and  lunching  at  two  on  another  bottle  of  soda-water 
mingled  with  brandy,  he  was  finding  fault  with  everything 
on  the  table,  and  declaring  we  must  change  our  cook,  I 
thought  the  time  was  come. 

'  It  is  the  same  cook  as  we  had  before  you  went,  Arthur,' 
said  I.  '  You  were  generally  pretty  well  satisfied  with  her 
then.' 

'  You  must  have  been  letting  her  get  into  slovenly  habits, 
then,  while  I  was  away.  It  is  enough  to  poison  one,  eating 
such  a  disgusting  mess ! '  And  he  pettishly  pushed  away 
his  plate,  and  leant  back  despairingly  in  his  chair. 

'  I  think  it  is  you  that  are  changed,  not  she,"  said  I,  but 
with  the  utmost  gentleness,  for  I  did  not  wish  to  irritate 
him. 

'  It  may  be  so,'  he  replied  carelessly,  as  he  seized  a 
tumbler  of  wine  and  water,  adding,  when  he  had  tossed  it 
off,  '  for  I  have  an  infernal  fire  in  my  veins,  that  all  the 
waters  of  the  ocean  cannot  quench  ! ' 


WILDFELL  HALL  257 

'  What  kindled  it  ? '  I  was  about  to  ask,  but  at  that 
moment  the  butler  entered  and  began  to  take  away  the 
things. 

1  Be  quick,  Benson ;  do  have  done  with  that  infernal 
clatter ! '  cried  his  master.  '  And  don't  bring  the  cheese, 
unless  you  want  to  make  me  sick  outright ! ' 

Benson,  in  some  surprise,  removed  the  cheese,  and  did 
his  best  to  effect  a  quiet  and  speedy  clearance  of  the  rest ; 
but,  unfortunately,  there  was  a  rumple  in  the  carpet,  caused 
by  the  hasty  pushing  back  of  his  master's  chair,  at  which  he 
tripped  and  stumbled,  causing  a  rather  alarming  concussion 
with  the  trayful  of  crockery  in  his  hands,  but  no  positive 
damage,  save  the  fall  and  breaking  of  a  sauce  tureen  ;  but,  to 
my  unspeakable  shame  and  dismay,  Arthur  turned  furiously 
around  upon  him,  and  swore  at  him  with  savage  coarseness. 
The  poor  man  turned  pale,  and  visibly  trembled  as  he  stooped 
to  pick  up  the  fragments. 

'  He  couldn't  help  it,  Arthur,'  said  I ;  '  the  carpet  caught 
his  foot,  and  there's  no  great  harm  done.  Never  mind  the 
pieces  now,  Benson ;  you  can  clear  them  away  after- 
wards.' 

Glad  to  be  released,  Benson  expeditiously  set  out  the 
dessert  and  withdrew. 

'  What  could  you  mean,  Helen,  by  taking  the  servant's 
part  against  me,'  said  Arthur,  as  soon  as  the  door  was 
closed,  '  when  you  knew  I  was  distracted  ?  ' 

'  I  did  not  know  you  were  distracted,  Arthur :  and  the 
poor  man  was  quite  frightened  and  hurt  at  your  sudden 
explosion.' 

'  Poor  man,  indeed !  and  do  you  think  I  could  stop  to 
consider  the  feelings  of  an  insensate  brute  like  that,  when  my 
own  nerves  were  racked  and  torn  to  pieces  by  his  confounded 
blunders  ? ' 

'  I  never  heard  you  complain  of  your  nerves  before.' 

'  And  why  shouldn't  I  have  nerves  as  well  as  you  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  I  don't  dispute  your  claim  to  their  possession,  but  I 
never  complain  of  mine.' 


258  THE  TENANT   OF 

1  No,  how  should  you,  when  you  never  do  anything  to 
try  them  ? ' 

'  Then  why  do  you  try  yours,  Arthur? ' 

'  Do  you  think  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  stay  at  home 
and  take  care  of  myself  like  a  woman  ? ' 

'  Is  it  impossible,  then,  to  take  care  of  yourself  like  a  man 
when  you  go  abroad?  You  told  me  that  you  could,  and 
would  too ;  and  you  promised ' 

'  Come,  come,  Helen,  don't  begin  with  that  nonsense 
now ;  I  can't  bear  it.' 

'  Can't  bear  what  ? — to  be  reminded  of  the  promises  you 
have  broken  ? ' 

'  Helen,  you  are  cruel.  If  you  knew  how  my  heart 
throbbed,  and  how  every  nerve  thrilled  through  me  while 
you  spoke,  you  would  spare  me.  You  can  pity  a  dolt  of  a 
servant  for  breaking  a  dish ;  but  you  have  no  compassion 
for  me,  when  my  head  is  split  in  two  and  all  on  fire  with 
this  consuming  fever.' 

He  leant  his  head  on  his  hand,  and  sighed.  I  went  to 
him  and  put  my  hand  on  his  forehead.  It  was  burning 
indeed. 

'Then  come  with  me  into  the  drawing-room,  Arthur; 
and  don't  take  any  more  wine  :  you  have  taken  several 
glasses  since  dinner,  and  eaten  next  to  nothing  all  the  day. 
How  can  that  make  you  better  ? ' 

With  some  coaxing  and  persuasion,  I  got  him  to  leave 
the  table.  When  the  baby  was  brought  I  tried  to  amuse 
him  with  that ;  but  poor  little  Arthur  was  cutting  his  teeth, 
and  his  father  could  not  bear  his  complaints:  sentence  of 
immediate  banishment  was  passed  upon  him  on  the  first 
indication  of  fretfulness  ;  and  because,  in  the  course  of  the 
evening,  I  went  to  share  his  exile  for  a  little  while,  I  was 
reproached,  on  my  return,  for  preferring  my  child  to  my 
husband.  I  found  the  latter  reclining  on  the  sofa  just  as  I 
had  left  him. 

'  Well !  '  exclaimed  the  injured  man,  in  a  tone  of  pseudo- 
resignation.  '  I  thought  I  wouldn't  send  for  you ;  I  thought 


WILDFELL  HALL  259 

I'd  just  see  now  long  it  would  please  you  to  leave  me 
alone.' 

'  I  have  not  been  very  long,  have  I,  Arthur  ?  I  have  not 
been  an  hour,  I'm  sure.' 

'  Oh,  of  course,  an  hour  is  nothing  to  you,  so  pleasantly 
employed  ;  but  to  me ' 

'It  has  not  been  pleasantly  employed,"  interrupted  I. 
'  I  have  been  nursing  our  poor  little  baby,  who  is  very  far 
from  well,  and  I  could  not  leave  him  till  I  got  him  to 
sleep.' 

'  Oh,  to  be  sure,  you're  overflowing  with  kindness  and 
pity  for  everything  but  me.' 

'  And  why  should  I  pity  you  ?  What  is  the  matter  with 
you?' 

'  Well !  that  passes  everything !  After  all  the  wear  and 
tear  that  I've  had,  when  I  come  home  sick  and  weary, 
longing  for  comfort,  and  expecting  to  find  attention  and 
kindness,  at  least  from  my  wife,  she  calmly  asks  what  is  the 
matter  with  me  ! ' 

'  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  you,'  returned  I, 
'  except  what .  you  have  wilfully  brought  upon  yourself, 
against  my  earnest  exhortation  and  entreaty.' 

'  Now,  Helen,'  said  he  emphatically,  half  rising  from  his 
recumbent  posture,  'if  you  bother  me  with  another  word, 
I'll  ring  the  bell  and  order  six  bottles  of  wine,  and,  by 
heaven,  I'll  drink  them  dry  before  I  stir  from  this  place  ! ' 

I  said  no  more,  but  sat  down  before  the  table  and  drew  a 
book  towards  me. 

'  Do  let  me  have  quietness  at  least ! '  continued  he,  '  if 
you  deny  me  every  other  comfort ; '  and  sinking  back  into 
his  former  position,  with  an  impatient  expiration  between  a 
sigh  and  a  groan,  he  languidly  closed  his  eyes,  as  if  to 
sleep. 

What  the  book  was  that  lay  open  on  the  table  before  me 
I  cannot  tell,  for  I  never  looked  at  it.  With  an  elbow  on 
each  side  of  it,  and  my  hands  clasped  before  my  eyes,  I 
delivered  myself  up  to  silent  weeping.  But  Arthur  was 


260  THE  TENANT   OF 

not  asleep :  at  the  first  slight  sob,  he  raised  his  head  and 
looked  round,  impatiently  exclaiming,  '  What  are  you 
crying  for,  Helen  ?  What  the  deuce  is  the  matter  now  ? ' 

'  I'm  crying  for  you,  Arthur,"  I  replied,  speedily  drying 
my  tears  ;  and  starting  up,  I  threw  myself  on  my  knees 
before  him,  and  clasping  his  nerveless  hand  between  my  own, 
continued  :  '  Don't  you  know  that  you  are  a  part  of  myself  ? 
And  do  you  think  you  can  injure  and  degrade  yourself,  and 
I  not  feel  it  ? ' 

'  Degrade  myself,  Helen  ? ' 

'  Yes,  degrade !  What  have  you  been  doing  all  this 
time?' 

'  You'd  better  not  ask,'  said  he,  with  a  faint  smile. 

'  And  you  had  better  not  tell ;  but  you  cannot  deny  that 
you  have  degraded  yourself  miserably.  You  have  shame- 
fully wronged  yourself,  body  and  soul,  and  me  too  ;  and  I 
can't  endure  it  quietly,  and  I  won't !  ' 

'  Well,  don't  squeeze  my  hand  so  frantically,  and  don't 
agitate  me  so,  for  heaven's  sake  !  Oh,  Hattersley !  you  were 
right :  this  woman  will  be  the  death  of  me,  with  her  keen 
feelings  and  her  interesting  force  of  character.  There,  there, 
do  spare  me  a  little.' 

'  Arthur,  you  must  repent ! '  cried  I,  in  a  frenzy  of  des- 
peration, throwing  my  arms  around  him  and  burying  my  face 
in  his  bosom.  '  You  shall  say  you  are  sorry  for  what  you 
have  done ! ' 

'  Well,  well,  I  am.' 

'  You  are  not !  you'll  do  it  again.' 

'  I  shall  never  live  to  do  it  again  if  you  treat  me  so 
savagely,'  replied  he,  pushing  me  from  him.  '  You've  nearly 
squeezed  the  breath  out  of  my  body.'  He  pressed  his  hand 
to  his  heart,  and  looked  really  agitated  and  ill. 

'  Now  get  me  a  glass  of  wine,'  said  he,  '  to  remedy  what 
you've  done,  you  she  tiger !  I'm  almost  ready  to  faint.' 

I  flew  to  get  the  required  remedy.  It  seemed  to  revive 
him  considerably. 

'  What  a  shame  it  is,'  said  I,  as  I  took  the  empty  glass 


WILDFELL  HALL  261 

from  his  hand,  '  for  a  strong  young  man  like  you  to  reduce 
yourself  to  such  a  state  ! ' 

'  If  you  knew  all,  my  girl,  you'd  say  rather,  "  What  a 
wonder  it  is  you  can  bear  it  so  well  as  you  do  !  "  I've  lived 
more  in  these  four  months,  Helen,  than  you  have  in  the 
whole  course  of  your  existence,  or  will  to  the  end  of  your 
days,  if  they  numbered  a  hundred  years ;  so  I  must  expect 
to  pay  for  it  in  some  shape.' 

'  You  will  have  to  pay  a  higher  price  than  you  anticipate, 
if  you  don't  take  care :  there  will  be  the  total  loss  of  your 
own  health,  and  of  my  affection  too,  if  that  is  of  any  value 
to  you.' 

'  What !  you're  at  that  game  of  threatening  me  with  the 
loss  of  your  affection  again,  are  you  ?  I  think  it  couldn't  have 
been  very  genuine  stuff  to  begin  with,  if  it's  so  easily  de- 
molished. If  you  don't  mind,  my  pretty  tyrant,  you'll  make 
me  regret  my  choice  in  good  earnest,  and  envy  my  friend 
Hattersley  his  meek  little  wife  :  she's  quite  a  pattern  to  her 
sex,  Helen.  He  had  her  with  him  in  London  all  the  season, 
and  she  was  no  trouble  at  all.  He  might  amuse  himself  just 
as  he. pleased,  in  regular  bachelor  style,  and  she  never  com- 
plained of  neglect ;  he  might  come  home  at  any  hour  of  the 
night  or  morning,  or  not  come  home  at  all ;  be  sullen,  sober, 
or  glorious  drunk ;  and  play  the  fool  or  the  madman  to  his 
own  heart's  desire,  without  any  fear  or  botheration.  She 
never  gives  him  a  word  of  reproach  or  complaint,  do  what  he 
will.  He  says  there's  not  such  a  jewel  in  all  England,  and 
swears  he  wouldn't  take  a  kingdom  for  her.' 

'  But  he  makes  her  life  a  curse  to  her.' 

'  Not  he  !  She  has  no  will  but  his,  and  is  always  contented 
and  happy  as  long  as  he  is  enjoying  himself.' 

'  In  that  case  she  is  as  great  a  fool  as  he  is  ;  but  it  is  not 
so.  I  have  several  letters  from  her,  expressing  the  greatest 
anxiety  about  his  proceedings,  and  complaining  that  you 
incite  him  to  commit  those  extravagances — one  especially,  in 
which  she  implores  me  to  use  my  influence  with  you  to  get 
you  away  from  London,  and  affirms  that  her  husband  never 


262  THE   TENANT   OF 

did  such  things  before  you  came,  and  would  certainly  dis- 
continue them  as  soon  as  you  departed  and  left  him  to  the 
guidance  of  his  own  good  sense.' 

'  The  detestable  little  traitor !  Give  me  the  letter,  and  he 
shall  see  it  as  sure  as  I'm  a  living  man.' 

'  No,  he  shall  not  see  it  without  her  consent ;  but  if  he 
did,  there  is  nothing  there  to  anger  him,  nor  in  any  of  the 
others.  She  never  speaks  a  word  against  him :  it  is  only 
anxiety  for  him  that  she  expresses.  She  only  alludes  to  his 
conduct  in  the  most  delicate  terms,  and  makes  every  excuse 
for  him  that  she  can  possibly  think  of ;  and  as  for  her 
own  misery,  I  rather  feel  it  than  see  it  expressed  in  her 
letters.' 

'  But  she  abuses  me ;  and  no  doubt  you  helped  her.' 

'  No ;  I  told  her  she  over-rated  my  influence  with  you, 
that  I  would  gladly  draw  you  away  from  the  temptations  of 
the  town  if  I  could,  but  had  little  hope  of  success,  and  that  I 
thought  she  was  wrong  in  supposing  that  you  enticed  Mr. 
Hattersley  or  any  one  else  into  error.  I  had  myself  held  the 
contrary  opinion  at  one  time,  but  I  now  believed  that  you 
mutually  corrupted  each  other ;  and,  perhaps,  if  she  used  a 
little  gentle  but  serious  remonstrance  with  her  husband,  it 
might  be  of  some  service ;  as,  though  he  was  more  rough- 
hewn  than  mine,  I  believed  he  was  of  a  less  impenetrable 
material.' 

'  And  so  that  is  the  way  you  go  on — heartening  each  other 
up  to  mutiny,  and  abusing  each  other's  partners,  and  throw- 
ing out  implications  against  your  own,  to  the  mutual 
gratification  of  both  ! ' 

'According  to  your  own  account,'  said  I,  'my  evil 
counsel  has  had  but  little  effect  upon  her.  And  as  to  abuse 
and  aspersions,  we  are  both  of  us  far  too  deeply  ashamed  of 
the  errors  and  vices  of  our  other  halves,  to  make  them  the 
common  subject  of  our  correspondence.  Friends  as  we  are, 
we  would  willingly  keep  your  failings  to  ourselves — even  from 
ourselves  if  we  could,  unless  by  knowing  them  we  could 
deliver  you  from  them. 


WILDFELL  HALL  263 

'  Well,  well !  don't  worry  me  about  them  :  you'll  never 
effect  any  good  by  that.  Have  patience  with  me,  and  bear 
with  my  languor  and  crossness  a  little  while,  till  I  get  this 
cursed  low  fever  out  of  my  veins,  and  then  you'll  find  me 
cheerful  and  kind  as  ever.  Why  can't  you  be  gentle  and 
good,  as  you  were  last  time  ? — I'm  sure  I  was  very  grateful 
for  it.' 

'And  what  good  did  your  gratitude  do?  I  deluded 
myself  with  the  idea  that  you  were  ashamed  of  your  trans- 
gressions, and  hoped  you  would  never  repeat  them  again ; 
but  now  you  have  left  me  nothing  to  hope ! ' 

'My  case  is  quite  desperate,  is  it?  A  very  blessed 
consideration,  if  it  will  only  secure  me  from  the  pain  and 
worry  of  my  dear  anxious  wife's  efforts  to  convert  me,  and 
her  from  the  toil  and  trouble  of  such  exertions,  and  her 
sweet  face  and  silver  accents  from  the  ruinous  effects  of  the 
same.  A  burst  of  passion  is  a  fine  rousing  thing  upon 
occasion,  Helen,  and  a  flood  of  tears  is  marvellously 
j  affecting,  but,  when  indulged  too  often,  they  are  both  deuced 
plaguy  things  for  spoiling  one's  beauty  and  tiring  out  one's 
friends.' 

Thenceforth  I  restrained  my  tears  and  passions  as 
much  as  I  could.  I  spared  him  my  exhortations  and  fruit- 
less efforts  at  conversion  too,  for  I  saw  it  was  all  in  vain : 
God  might  awaken  that  heart,  supine  and  stupefied  with 
self-indulgence,  and  remove  the  film  of  sensual  darkness 
from  his  eyes,  but  I  could  not.  His  injustice  and  ill- 
humour  towards  his  inferiors,  who  could  not  defend 
themselves,  I  still  resented  and  withstood ;  but  when 
I  alone  was  their  object,  as  was  frequently  the  case, 
I  endured  it  with  calm  forbearance,  except  at  times,  when 
my  temper,  worn  out  by  repeated  annoyances,  or  stung  to 
distraction  by  some  new  instance  of  irrationality,  gave  way 
in  spite  of  myself,  and  exposed  me  to  the  imputations  of 
fierceness,  cruelty,  and  impatience.  I  attended  carefully 
to  his  wants  and  amusements,  but  not,  I  own,  with  the 
same  devoted  fondness  as  before,  because  I  could  not  feel  it ; 


264  THE  TENANT  OF 

besides,  I  had  now  another  claimant  on  my  time  and  care — 
my  ailing  infant,  for  whose  sake  I  frequently  braved  and 
suffered  the  reproaches  and  complaints  of  his  unreasonably 
exacting  father. 

But  Arthur  is  not  naturally  a  peevish  or  irritable  man  ; 
so  far  from  it,  that  there  was  something  almost  ludicrous 
in  the  incongruity  of  this  adventitious  fretfulness  and 
nervous  irritability,  rather  calculated  to  excite  laughter 
than  anger,  if  it  were  not  for  the  intensely  painful  considera- 
tions attendant  upon  those  symptoms  of  a  disordered  frame, 
and  his  temper  gradually  improved  as  his  bodily  health  was 
restored,  which  was  much  sooner  than  would  have  been  the 
case  but  for  my  strenuous  exertions  ;  for  there  was  still  one 
thing  about  him  that  I  did  not  give  up  in  despair,  and  one 
effort  for  his  preservation  that  I  would  not  remit.  His 
appetite  for  the  stimulus  of  wine  had  increased  upon  him, 
as  I  had  too  well  foreseen.  It  was  now  something  more 
to  him  than  an  accessory  to  social  enjoyment :  it  was  an 
important  source  of  enjoyment  in  itself.  In  this  time  of 
weakness  and  depression  he  would  have  made  it  his 
medicine  and  support,  his  comforter,  his  recreation,  and  his 
friend,  and  thereby  sunk  deeper  and  deeper,  and  bound 
himself  down  for  ever  in  the  bathos  whereinto  he  had  fallen. 
But  I  determined  this  should  never  be,  as  long  as  I  had  any 
influence  left ;  and  though  I  could  not  prevent  him  from 
taking  more  than  was  good  for  him,  still,  by  incessant 
perseverance,  by  kindness,  and  firmness,  and  vigilance,  by 
coaxing,  and  daring,  and  determination,  I  succeeded  in  pre- 
serving him  from  absolute  bondage  to  that  detestable 
propensity,  so  insidious  in  its  advances,  so  inexorable  in  its 
tyranny,  so  disastrous  in  its  effects. 

And  here  I  must  not  forget  that  I  am  not  a  little 
indebted  to  his  friend  Mr.  Hargrave.  About  that  time  he 
frequently  called  at  Grassdale,  and  often  dined  with  us,  on 
which  occasions  I  fear  Arthur  would  willingly  have  cast 
prudence  and  decorum  to  the  winds,  and  made  '  a  night 
of  it,'  as  often  as  his  friend  would  have  consented  to  join 


WILDFELL  HALL  265 

him  in  that  exalted  pastime ;  and  if  the  latter  had  chosen 
to  comply,  he  might,  in  a  night  or  two,  have  ruined  the 
labour  of  weeks,  and  overthrown  with  a  touch  the  frail 
bulwark  it  had  cost  me  such  trouble  and  toil  to  construct. 
I  was  so  fearful  of  this  at  first,  that  I  humbled  myself 
to  intimate  to  him,  in  private,  my  apprehensions  of  Arthur's 
proneness  to  these  excesses,  and  to  express  a  hope  that  he 
would  not  encourage  it.  He  was  pleased  with  this  mark 
of  confidence,  and  certainly  did  not  betray  it.  On  that  and 
every  subsequent  occasion  his  presence  served  rather  as  a 
check  upon  his  host,  than  an  incitement  to  further  acts  of 
intemperance  ;  and  he  always  succeeded  in  bringing  him  from 
the  dining-room  in  good  time,  and  in  tolerably  good 
condition ;  for  if  Arthur  disregarded  such  intimations  as 
'  Well,  I  must  not  detain  you  from  your  lady,'  or  '  We  must 
not  forget  that  Mrs.  Huntingdon  is  alone,'  he  would  insist 
upon  leaving  the  table  himself,  to  join  me,  and  his  host, 
however  unwillingly,  was  obliged  to  follow. 

Hence  I  learned  to  welcome  Mr.  Hargrave  as  a  real  friend 
to  the  family,  a  harmless  companion  for  Arthur,  to  cheer  his 
spirits  and  preserve  him  from  the  tedium  of  absolute  idleness 
and  a  total  isolation  from  all  society  but  mine,  and  a  useful 
ally  to  me.  I  could  not  but  feel  grateful  to  him  under 
such  circumstances ;  and  I  did  not  scruple  to  acknowledge 
my  obligation  on  the  first  convenient  opportunity ;  yet,  as  I 
did  so,  my  heart  whispered  all  was  not  right,  and  brought  a 
glow  to  my  face,  which  he  heightened  by  his  steady,  serious 
gaze,  while,  by  his  manner  of  receiving  those  acknowledg- 
ments, he  more  than  doubled  my  misgivings.  His  high 
delight  at  being  able  to  serve  me  was  chastened  by  sympathy 
for  me  and  commiseration  for  himself — about,  I  know  not 
what,  for  I  would  not  stay  to  inquire,  or  suffer  him  to 
unburden  his  sorrows  to  me.  His  sighs  and  intimations  of 
suppressed  affliction  seemed  to  come  from  a  full  heart ;  but 
either  he  must  contrive  to  retain  them  within  it,  or  breathe 
them  forth  in  other  ears  than  mine  :  there  was  enough  of 
confidence  between  us  already.  It  seemed  wrong  that  there 


266  THE   TENANT  OF 

should  exist  a  secret  understanding  between  my  husband's 
friend  and  me,  unknown  to  him,  of  which  he  was  the  object. 
But  my  after-thought  was,  '  If  it  is  wrong,  surely  Arthur's  is 
the  fault,  not  mine.' 

And  indeed  I  know  not  whether,  at  the  time,  it  was  not 
for  him  rather  than  myself  that  I  blushed  ;  for,  since  he  and 
I  are  one,  I  so  identify  myself  with  him,  that  I  feel  his 
degradation,  his  failings,  and  transgressions  as  my  own :  I 
blush  for  him,  I  fear  for  him  ;  I  repent  for  him,  weep,  pray, 
and  feel  for  him  as  for  myself ;  but  I  cannot  act  for  him ; 
and  hence  I  must  be,  and  I  am,  debased,  contaminated  by 
the  union,  both  in  my  own  eyes  and  in  the  actual  truth.  I 
am  so  determined  to  love  him,  so  intensely  anxious  to 
excuse  his  errors,  that  I  am  continually  dwelling  upon  them, 
and  labouring  to  extenuate  the  loosest  of  his  principles  and 
the  worst  of  his  practices,  till  I  am  familiarised  with  vice, 
and  almost  a  partaker  in  his  sins.  Things  that  formerly 
shocked  and  disgusted  me,  now  seem  only  natural.  I  know 
them  to  be  wrong,  because  reason  and  God's  word  declare 
them  to  be  so;  but  I  am  gradually  losing  that  instinctive 
horror  and  repulsion  which  were  given  me  by  nature,  or 
instilled  into  me  by  the  precepts  and  example  of  my  aunt. 
Perhaps  then  I  was  too  severe  in  my  judgments,  for  I 
abhorred  the  sinner  as  well  as  the  sin  ;  now  I  flatter  myself 
I  am  more  charitable  and  considerate ;  but  am  I  not 
becoming  more  indifferent  and  insensate  too  ?  Fool  that  I 
was,  to  dream  that  I  had  strength  and  purity  enough  to  save 
myself  and  him  !  Such  vain  presumption  would  be  rightly 
served,  if  I  should  perish  with  him  in  the  gulf  from  which  I 
sought  to  save  him  !  Yet,  God  preserve  me  from  it,  and  him 
too  !  Yes,  poor  Arthur,  I  will  still  hope  and  pray  for  you ; 
and  though  I  write  as  if  you  were  some  abandoned  wretch, 
past  hope  and  past  reprieve,  it  is  only  my  anxious  fears,  my 
strong  desires  that  make  me  do  so ;  one  who  loved  you  less 
would  be  less  bitter,  less  dissatisfied. 

His  conduct  has,  of   late,  been  what  the   world   calls 
irreproachable ;  but  then  I  know  his  heart  is  still  unchanged ; 


WILDFELL  HALL  267 

and  I  know  that  spring  is  approaching,  and  deeply  dread  the 
consequences. 

As  he  began  to  recover  the  tone  and  vigour  of  his 
exhausted  frame,  and  with  it  something  of  his  former 
impatience  of  retirement  and  repose,  I  suggested  a  short 
residence  by  the  sea-side,  for  his  recreation  and  further 
restoration,  and  for  the  benefit  of  our  little  one  as  well. 
But  no  :  watering-places  were  so  intolerably  dull ;  besides, 
he  had  been  invited  by  one  of  his  friends  to  spend  a  month 
or  two  in  Scotland  for  the  better  recreation  of  grouse-shoot- 
ing and  deer-stalking,  and  had  promised  to  go. 

1  Then  you  will  leave  me  again,  Arthur  ? '  said  I. 

'Yes,  dearest,  but  only  to  love  you  the  better  when  I 
come  back,  and  make  up  for  all  past  offences  and  short- 
comings ;  and  you  needn't  fear  me  this  time  :  there  are  no 
temptations  on  the  mountains.  And  during  my  absence 
you  may  pay  a  visit  to  Staningley,  if  you  like :  your  uncle 
and  aunt  have  long  been  wanting  us  to  go  there,  you  know ; 
but  somehow  there's  such  a  repulsion  between  the  good  lady 
and  me,  that  I  never  could  bring  myself  up  to  the  scratch.' 

About  the  third  week  in  August,  Arthur  set  out  for 
Scotland,  and  Mr.  Hargrave  accompanied  him  thither,  to 
my  private  satisfaction.  Shortly  after,  I,  with  little  Arthur 
and  Eachel,  went  to  Staningley,  my  dear  old  home,  which, 
as  well  as  my  dear  old  friends  its  inhabitants,  I  saw  again 
with  mingled  feelings  of  pleasure  and  pain  so  intimately 
blended  that  I  could  scarcely  distinguish  the  one  from  the 
other,  or  tell  to  which  to  attribute  the  various  tears,  and 
smiles,  and  sighs  awakened  by  those  old  familiar  scenes,  and 
tones,  and  faces. 

Arthur  did  not  come  home  till  several  weeks  after  my 
return  to  Grassdale  ;  but  I  did  not  feel  so  anxious  about  him 
now ;  to  think  of  him  engaged  in  active  sports  among  the 
wild  hills  of  Scotland,  was  very  different  from  knowing  him 
to  be  immersed  amid  the  corruptions  and  temptations  of 
London.  His  letters  now ;  though  neither  long  nor  loverlike, 
were  more  regular  than  ever  they  had  been  before ;  and 


268  THE  TENANT  OF 

when  he  did  return,  to  my  great  joy,  instead  of  being  worse 
than  when  he  went,  he  was  more  cheerful  and  vigorous,  and 
better  in  every  respect.  Since  that  time  I  have  had  little 
cause  to  complain.  He  still  has  an  unfortunate  predilection 
for  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  against  which  I  have  to 
struggle  and  watch ;  but  he  has  begun  to  notice  his  boy,  and 
that  is  an  increasing  source  of  amusement  to  him  within- 
doors, while  his  fox-hunting  and  coursing  are  a  sufficient 
occupation  for  him  without,  when  the  ground  is  not  hardened 
by  frost ;  so  that  he  is  not  wholly  dependent  on  me  for 
entertainment.  But  it  is  now  January ;  spring  is  approach- 
ing ;  and,  I  repeat,  I  dread  the  consequences  of  its  arrival. 
That  sweet  season,  I  once  so  joyously  welcomed  as  the  time 
of  hope  and  gladness,  awakens  now  far  other  anticipations 
by  its  return. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

MARCH  20TH,  1824.  The  dreaded  time  is  come,  and  Arthur 
is  gone,  as  I  expected.  This  time  he  announced  it  his 
intention  to  make  but  a  short  stay  in  London,  and  pass 
over  to  the  Continent,  where  he  should  probably  stay  a  few 
weeks ;  but  I  shall  not  expect  him  till  after  the  lapse  of 
many  weeks  :  I  now  know  that,  with  him,  days  signify  weeks, 
and  weeks  months. 

July  30th. — He  returned  about  three  weeks  ago,  rather 
better  in  health,  certainly,  than  before,  but  still  worse  in 
temper.  And  yet,  perhaps,  I  am  wrong  :  it  is  I  that  am  less 
patient  and  forbearing.  I  am  tired  out  with  his  injustice, 
his  selfishness  and  hopeless  depravity.  I  wish  a  milder 
word  would  do ;  I  am  no  angel,  and  my  corruption  rises 
against  it.  My  poor  father  died  last  week :  Arthur  was 
vexed  to  hear  of  it,  because  he  saw  that  I  was  shocked  and 
grieved,  and  he  feared  the  circumstance  would  mar  his 
comfort.  When  I  spoke  of  ordering  my  mourning,  he 
exclaimed, — '  Oh,  I  hate  black  !  But,  however,  I  suppose 
you  must  wear  it  awhile,  for  form's  sake ;  but  I  hope,  Helen, 
you  won't  think  it  your  bounden  duty  to  compose  your  face 
and  manners  into  conformity  with  your  funereal  garb.  Why 
should  you  sigh  and  groan,  and  I  be  made  uncomfortable, 

because  an  old  gentleman  in shire,  a  perfect  stranger  to 

us  both,  has  thought  proper  to  drink  himself  to  death? 
There,  now,  I  declare  you're  crying !  Well,  it  must  be 
affectation.' 

He  would  not  hear  of  my  attending  the  funeral,  or  going 
for  a  day  or  two,  to  cheer  poor  Frederick's  solitude.  It  was 
quite  unnecessary,  he  said,  and  I  was  unreasonable  to  wish 


270  THE  TENANT  OF 

it.  What  was  my  father  to  me  ?  I  had  never  seen  him  but 
once  since  I  was  a  baby,  and  I  well  knew  he  had  never 
cared  a  stiver  about  me ;  and  my  brother,  too,  was  little 
better  than  a  stranger.  '  Besides,  dear  Helen,'  said  he, 
embracing  me  with  flattering  fondness,  '  I  cannot  spare  you 
for  a  single  day.' 

1  Then  how  have  you  managed  without  me  these  many 
days  ?  '  said  I. 

'  Ah  t  then  I  was  knocking  about  the  world,  now  I  am  at 
home,  and  home  without  you,  my  household  deity,  would  be 
intolerable.' 

'  Yes,  as  long  as  I  am  necessary  to  your  comfort ;  but 
you  did  not  say  so  before,  when  you  urged  me  to  leave  you, 
in  order  that  you  might  get  away  from  your  home  without 
me,'  retorted  I ;  but  before  the  words  were  well  out  of  my 
mouth,  I  regretted  having  uttered  them.  It  seemed  so 
heavy  a  charge  :  if  false,  too  gross  an  insult ;  if  true,  too 
humiliating  a  fact  to  be  thus  openly  cast  in  his  teeth.  But 
I  might  have  spared  myself  that  momentary  pang  of  self- 
reproach.  The  accusation  awoke  neither  shame  nor  in- 
dignation in  him  :  he  attempted  neither  denial  nor  excuse, 
but  only  answered  with  a  long,  low,  chuckling  laugh,  as  if 
he  viewed  the  whole  transaction  as  a  clever,  merry  jest  from 
beginning  to  end.  Surely  that  man  will  make  me  dislike 
him  at  last ! 

Sine  as  ye  brew,  my  maiden  fair, 
Keep  mind  that  ye  maun  drink  the  yill. 

Yes ;  and  I  will  drink  it  to  the  very  dregs  :  and  none  but 
myself  shall  know  how  bitter  I  find  it ! 

August  20th. — We  are  shaken  down  again  to  about  our 
usual  position.  Arthur  has  returned  to  nearly  his  former 
condition  and  habits ;  and  I  have  found  it  my  wisest  plan 
to  shut  my  eyes  against  the  past  and  future,  as  far  as  he,  at 
least,  is  concerned,  and  live  only  for  the  present :  to  love 
him  when  I  can  ;  to  smile  (if  possible)  when  he  smiles,  be 
cheerful  when  he  is  cheerful,  and  pleased  when  he  is  agreeable ; 


WILDFELL  HALL  271 

and  when  he  is  not,  to  try  to  make  him  so ;  and  if  that  won't 
answer,  to  bear  with  him,  to  excuse  him,  and  forgive  him  as 
well  as  I  can,  and  restrain  my  own  evil  passions  from 
aggravating  his  ;  and  yet,  while  I  thus  yield  and  minister  to 
his  more  harmless  propensities  to  self-indulgence,  to  do  all 
in  my  power  to  save  him  from  the  worse. 

But  we  shall  not  be  long  alone  together.  I  shall  shortly 
be  called  upon  to  entertain  the  same  select  body  of  friends  as 
we  had  the  autumn  before  last,  with  the  addition  of  Mr. 
Hattersley  and,  at  my  special  request,  his  wife  and  child.  I 
long  to  see  Milicent,  and  her  little  girl  too.  The  latter  is 
now  above  a  year  old  ;  she  will  be  a  charming  playmate  for 
my  little  Arthur. 

September  30th. — Our  guests  have  been  here  a  week  or 
two ;  but  I  have  had  no  leisure  to  pass  any  comments  upon 
them  till  now.  I  cannot  get  over  my  dislike  to  Lady 
Lowborough.  It  is  not  founded  on  mere  personal  pique ;  it 
is  the  woman  herself  that  I  dislike,  because  I  so  thoroughly 
disapprove  of  her.  I  always  avoid  her  company  as  much  as 
I  can  without  violating  the  laws  of  hospitality ;  but  when  we 
do  speak  or  converse  together,  it  is  with  the  utmost  civility, 
even  apparent  cordiality  on  her  part ;  but  preserve  me  from 
such  cordiality !  It  is  like  handling  brier-roses  and  may- 
blossoms,  bright  enough  to  the  eye,  and  outwardly  soft  to 
the  touch,  but  you  know  there  are  thorns  beneath,  and  every 
now  and  then  you  feel  them  too;  and  perhaps  resent  the 
injury  by  crushing  them  in  till  you  have  destroyed  their 
power,  though  somewhat  to  the  detriment  of  your  own 
fingers. 

Of  late,  however,  I  have  seen  nothing  in  her  conduct 
towards  Arthur  to  anger  or  alarm  me.  During  the  first  few 
days  I  thought  she  seemed  very  solicitous  to  win  his  admira- 
tion. Her  efforts  were  not  unnoticed  by  him :  I  frequently 
saw  him  smiling  to  himself  at  her  artful  manoeuvres  :  but, 
to  his  praise  be  it  spoken,  her  shafts  fell  powerless  by  his 
side.  Her  most  bewitching  smiles,  her  haughtiest  frowns 
were  ever  received  with  the  same  immutable,  careless  good- 


272  THE  TENANT   OF 

humour;  till,  finding  he  was  indeed  impenetrable,  she 
suddenly  remitted  her  efforts,  and  became,  to  all  appearance, 
as  perfectly  indifferent  as  himself.  Nor  have  I  since 
witnessed  any  symptom  of  pique  on  his  part,  or  renewed 
attempts  at  conquest  upon  hers. 

This  is  as  it  should  be  ;  but  Arthur  never  will  let  me  be 
satisfied  with  him.  I  have  never,  for  a  single  hour  since  I 
married  him,  known  what  it  is  to  realise  that  sweet  idea,  '  In 
quietness  and  confidence  shall  be  your  rest.'  Those  two 
detestable  men,  Grimsby  and  Hattersley,  have  destroyed  all 
my  labour  against  his  love  of  wine.  They  encourage  him 
daily  to  overstep  the  bounds  of  moderation,  and  not 
unfrequently  to  disgrace  himself  by  positive  excess.  I  shall 
not  soon  forget  the  second  night  after  their  arrival.  Just  as 
I  had  retired  from  the  dining-room  with  the  ladies,  before 
the  door  was  closed  upon  us,  Arthur  exclaimed, — '  Now  then, 
my  lads,  what  say  you  to  a  regular  jollification  ?  ' 

Milicent  glanced  at  me  with  a  half-reproachful  look,  as  if 
I  could  hinder  it ;  but  her  countenance  changed  when  she 
heard  Hattersley's  voice,  shouting  through  door  and  wall, — 
1  I'm  your  man !  Send  for  more  wine  :  here  isn't  half 
enough  I ' 

We  had  scarcely  entered  the  drawing-room  before  we 
were  joined  by  Lord  Lowborough. 

'  What  can  induce  you  to  come  so  soon  ? '  exclaimed  his 
lady,  with  a  most  ungracious  air  of  dissatisfaction. 

'  You  know  I  never  drink,  Annabella,'  replied  he 
seriously. 

'  Well,  but  you  might  stay  with  them  a  little  :  it  looks  so 
silly  to  be  always  dangling  after  the  women  ;  I  wonder  you 
can  ! '. 

He  reproached  her  with  a  look  of  mingled  bitterness  and 
surprise,  and,  sinking  into  a  chair,  suppressed  a  heavy  sigh, 
bit  his  pale  lips,  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  floor. 

'  You  did  right  to  leave  them,  Lord  Lowborough,'  said  I. 
'  I  trust  you  will  always  continue  to  honour  us  so  early  with 
your  company.  And  if  Annabella  knew  the  value  of  true 


WILDFELL  HALL  273 

wisdom,  and  the  misery  of  folly  and — and  intemperance,  she 
would  not  talk  such  nonsense — even  in  jest.' 

He  raised  his  eyes  while  I  spoke,  and  gravely  turned 
them  upon  me,  with  a  half-surprised,  half-abstracted  look, 
and  then  bent  them  on  his  wife. 

'  At  least,'  said  she,  '  I  know  the  value  of  a  warm  heart 
and  a  bold,  manly  spirit.' 

'  Well,  Annabella,'  said  he,  in  a  deep  and  hollow  tone, 
'  since  my  presence  is  disagreeable  to  you,  I  will  relieve  you 
of  it.' 

'  Are  you  going  back  to  them,  then  ?  '  said  she,  carelessly. 

'  No,'  exclaimed  he,  with  harsh  and  startling  emphasis. 
'  I  will  not  go  back  to  them  !  And  I  will  never  stay  with 
them  one  moment  longer  than  I  think  right,  for  you  or  any 
other  tempter  !  But  you  needn't  mind  that ;  I  shall  never 
trouble  you  again  by  intruding  my  company  upon  you  so 
unseasonably.' 

He  left  the  room :  I  heard  the  hall-door  open  and  shut, 
and  immediately  after,  on  putting  aside  the  curtain,  I  saw 
him  pacing  down  the  park,  in  the  comfortless  gloom  of  the 
damp,  cloudy  twilight. 

'  It  would  serve  you  right,  Annabella,'  said  I,  at  length, 
'  if  Lord  Lowborough  were  to  return  to  his  old  habits,  which 
had  so  nearly  effected  his  ruin,  and  which  it  cost  him  such 
an  effort  to  break :  you  would  then  see  cause  to  repent  such 
conduct  as  this.' 

'  Not  at  all,  my  dear !  I  should  not  mind  if  his  lordship 
were  to  see  fit  to  intoxicate  himself  every  day  :  I  should  only 
the  sooner  be  rid  of  him.' 

'  Oh,  Annabella  ! '  cried  Milicent.  '  How  can  you  say 
such  wicked  things  !  It  would,  indeed,  be  a  just  punishment, 
as  far  as  you  are  concerned,  if  Providence  should  take  you 

at  your  word,  and  make  you  feel  what  others  feel,  that ' 

She  paused  as  a  sudden  burst  of  loud  talking  and  laughter 
reached  us  from  the  dining-room,  in  which  the  voice  of 
Hattersley  was  pre-eminently  conspicuous,  even  to  my  un- 
practised ear 


274  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  What  you  feel  at  this  moment,  I  suppose  ? '  said  Lady 
Lowborough,  with  a  malicious  smile,  fixing  her  eyes  upon 
her  cousin's  distressed  countenance. 

The  latter  offered  no  reply,  but  averted  her  face  and 
brushed  away  a  tear.  At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and 
admitted  Mr.  Hargrave,  just  a  little  flushed,  his  dark  eyes 
sparkling  with  unwonted  vivacity. 

1  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you're  come,  Walter  ?  '  cried  his  sister. 
'  But  I  wish  you  could  have  got  Ralph  to  come  too.' 

'  Utterly  impossible,  dear  Milicent,'  replied  he,  gaily.  '  I 
had  much  ado  to  get  away  myself.  Ralph  attempted  to  keep 
me  by  violence  ;  Huntingdon  threatened  me  with  the  eternal 
loss  of  his  friendship ;  and  Grimsby,  worse  than  all,  endea- 
voured to  make  me  ashamed  of  my  virtue,  by  such  galling 
sarcasms  and  innuendoes  as  he  knew  would  wound  me  the 
most.  So  you  see,  ladies,  you  ought  to  make  me  welcome 
when  I  have  braved  and  suffered  so  much  for  the  favour  of 
your  sweet  society.  He  smilingly  turned  to  me  and  bowed 
as  he  finished  the  sentence. 

'  Isn't  he  handsome  now,  Helen  ! '  whispered  Milicent, 
her  sisterly  pride  overcoming,  for  the  moment,  all  other 
considerations. 

'  He  would  be,'  I  returned,  '  if  that  brilliance  of  eye,  and 
lip,  and  cheek  were  natural  to  him  ;  but  look  again,  a  few 
hours  hence.' 

Here  the  gentleman  took  a  seat  near  me  at  the  table,  and 
petitioned  for  a  cup  of  coffee. 

'  I  consider  this  an  apt  illustration  of  heaven  taken  by 
storm,'  said  he,  as  I  handed  one  to  him.  '  I  am  in  paradise 
now ;  but  I  have  fought  my  way  through  flood  and  fire  to  win 
it.  Ralph  Hattersley's  last  resource  was  to  set  his  back 
against  the  door,  and  swear  I  should  find  no  passage  but 
through  his  body  (a  pretty  substantial  one  too).  Happily, 
however,  that  was  not  the  only  door,  and  I  effected  my 
escape  by  the  side  entrance  through  the  butler's  pantry,  to 
the  infinite  amazement  of  Benson,  who  was  cleaning  the 
plate,' 


WILDFELL  HALL  275 

i 

Mr.  Hargrave  laughed,  and  so  did  his  cousin;  but  his 
sister  and  I  remained  silent  and  grave. 

'  Pardon  my  levity,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,'  murmured  he,  more 
seriously,  as  he  raised  his  eyes  to  my  face.  '  You  are  not 
used  to  these  things  :  you  suffer  them  to  affect  your  delicate 
mind  too  sensibly.  But  I  thought  of  you  in  the  midst  of 
those  lawless  roysterers  ;  and  I  endeavoured  to  persuade  Mr. 
Huntingdon  to  think  of  you  too ;  but  to  no  purpose  :  I  fear 
he  is  fully  determined  to  enjoy  himself  this  night ;  and  it  will 
be  no  use  keeping  the  coffee  waiting  for  him  or  his  com- 
panions ;  it  will  be  much  if  they  join  us  at  tea.  Meantime, 
I  earnestly  wish  I  could  banish  the  thoughts  of  them  from 
your  mind — and  my  own  too,  for  I  hate  to  think  of  them 
— yes — even  of  my  dear  friend  Huntingdon,  when  I  consider 
the  power  he  possesses  over  the  happiness  of  one  so  immea- 
surably superior  to  himself,  and  the  use  he  makes  of  it — I 
positively  detest  the  man  ! ' 

1  You  had  better  not  say  so  to  me,  then,'  said  I ;  '  for,  bad 
as  he  is,  he  is  part  of  myself,  and  you  cannot  abuse  him 
without  offending  me.' 

'  Pardon  me,  then,  for  I  would  sooner  die  than  offend 
you.  But  let  us  say  no  more  of  him  for  the  present,  if  you 
please.' 

At  last  they  came  ;  but  not  till  after  ten,  when  tea, 
which  had  been  delayed  for  more  than  half  an  hour,  was 
nearly  over.  Much  as  I  had  longed  for  their  coming,  my 
heart  failed  me  at  the  riotous  uproar  of  their  approach ;  and 
Milicent  turned  pale,  and  almost  started  from  her  seat,  as 
Mr.  Hattersley  burst  into  the  room  with  a  clamorous  volley 
of  oaths  in  his  mouth,  which  Hargrave  endeavoured  to  check 
by  entreating  him  to  remember  the  ladies. 

'  Ah !  you  do  well  to  remind  me  of  the  ladies,  you 
dastardly  deserter,'  cried  he,  shaking  his  formidable  fist  at 
his  brother-in-law.  '  If  it  were  not  for  them,  you  well 
know,  I'd  demolish  you  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  give 
your  body  to  the  fowls  of  heaven  and  the  lilies  of  the  fields  ! ' 
Then,  planting  a  chair  by  Lady  Lowborough's  side,  he 


276  THE  TENANT   OF 

stationed  himself  in  it,  and  began  to  talk  to  her  with  a 
mixture  of  absurdity  and  impudence  that  seemed  rather  to 
amuse  than  to  offend  her ;  though  she  affected  to  resent  his 
insolence,  and  to  keep  him  at  bay  with  sallies  of  smart 
and  spirited  repartee. 

Meantime  Mr.  Grimsby  seated  himself  by  me,  in  the 
chair  vacated  by  Hargrave  as  they  entered,  and  gravely 
stated  that  he  would  thank  me  for  a  cup  of  tea :  and  Arthur 
placed  himself  beside  poor  Milicent,  confidentially  pushing 
his  head  into  her  face,  and  drawing  in  closer  to  her  as  she 
shrank  away  from  him.  He  was  not  so  noisy  as  Hattersley, 
but  his  face  was  exceedingly  flushed  :  he  laughed  incessantly, 
and  while  I  blushed  for  all  I  saw  and  heard  of  him,  I  was 
glad  that  he  chose  to  talk  to  his  companion  in  so  low  a  tone 
that  no  one  could  hear  what  he  said  but  herself. 

1  What  fools  they  are  ! '  drawled  Mr.  Grimsby,  who  had 
been  talking  away,  at  my  elbow,  with  sententious  gravity  all 
the  time ;  but  I  had  been  too  much  absorbed  in  contemplating 
the  deplorable  state  of  the  other  two — especially  Arthur — to 
attend  to  him. 

'  Did  you  ever  hear  such  nonsense  as  they  talk,  Mrs. 
Huntingdon  ? '  he  continued.  '  I'm  quite  ashamed  of  them 
for  my  part :  they  can't  take  so  much  as  a  bottle  between 
them  without  its  getting  into  their  heads ' 

'  You  are  pouring  the  cream  into  your  saucer,  Mr. 
Grimsby.' 

1  Ah !  yes,  I  see,  but  we're  almost  in  darkness  here. 
Hargrave,  snuff  those  candles,  will  you  ?  ' 

'  They're  wax ;  they  don't  require  snuffing,'  said  I. 

'  "  The  light  of  the  body  is  the  eye,"  '  observed  Hargrave, 
with  a  sarcastic  smile.  '  "  If  thine  eye  be  single,  thy  whole 
body  shall  be  full  of  light." ' 

Grimsby  repulsed  him  with  a  solemn  wave  of  the  hand, 
and  then  turning  to  me,  continued,  with  the  same  drawling 
tones  and  strange  uncertainty  of  utterance  and  heavy  gravity 
of  aspect  as  before :  '  But  as  I  was  saying,  Mrs.  Huntingdon, 
they  have  no  head  at  all :  they  can't  take  half  a  bottle 


WILDFELL  HALL  277 

without  being  affected  some  way ;  whereas  I well,  I've 

taken  three  times  as  much  as  they  have  to-night,  and  you 
see  I'm  perfectly  steady.  Now  that  may  strike  you  as  very 
singular,  but  I  think  I  can  explain  it :  you  see  their  brains — 
I  mention  no  names,  but  you'll  understand  to  whom  I  allude 
— their  brains  are  light  to  begin  with,  and  the  fumes  of  the 
fermented  liquor  render  them  lighter  still,  and  produce  an 
entire  light-headedness,  or  giddiness,  resulting  in  intoxica- 
tion ;  whereas  my  brains,  being  composed  of  more  solid 
materials,  will  absorb  a  considerable  quantity  of  this 
alcoholic  vapour  without  the  production  of  any  sensible 
result ' 

'  I  think  you  will  find  a  sensible  result  produced  on  that 
tea/  interrupted  Mr.  Hargrave,  '  by  the  quantity  of  sugar  you 
have  put  into  it.  Instead  of  your  usual  complement  of  one 
lump,  you  have  put  in  six.' 

'  Have  I  so  ? '  replied  the  philosopher,  diving  with  his 
spoon  into  the  cup,  and  bringing  up  several  half-dissolved 
pieces  in  confirmation  of  the  assertion.  '  Hum  !  I  perceive. 
Thus,  Madam,  you  see  the  evil  of  absence  of  mind — of 
thinking  too  much  while  engaged  in  the  common  concerns  of 
life.  Now,  if  I  had  had  my  wits  about  me,  like  ordinary 
men,  instead  of  within  me  like  a  philosopher,  I  should  not 
have  spoiled  this  cup  of  tea,  and  been  constrained  to  trouble 
you  for  another.' 

'  That  is  the  sugar-basin,  Mr.  Grimsby.  Now  you  have 
spoiled  the  sugar  too ;  and  I'll  thank  you  to  ring  for  some 
more,  for  here  is  Lord  Lowborough  at  last ;  and  I  hope  his 
lordship  will  condescend  to  sit  down  with  us,  such  as  we  are, 
and  allow  me  to  give  him  some  tea.' 

His  lordship  gravely  bowed  in  answer  to  my  appeal,  but 
said  nothing.  Meantime,  Hargrave  volunteered  to  ring  for 
the  sugar,  while  Grimsby  lamented  his  mistake,  and 
attempted  to  prove  that  it  was  owing  to  the  shadow  of  the 
urn  and  the  badness  of  the  lights. 

Lord  Lowborough  had  entered  a  minute  or  two  before, 
unobserved  by  anyone  but  me,  and  had  been  standing  before 


278  THE  TENANT   OF 

the  door,  grimly  surveying  the  company.  He  now  stepped 
up  to  Annabella,  who  sat  with  her  back  towards  him,  with 
Hattersley  still  beside  her,  though  not  now  attending  to  her, 
being  occupied  in  vociferously  abusing  and  bullying  his 
host. 

1  Well,  Annabella,'  said  her  husband,  as  he  leant  over  the 
back  of  her  chair,  '  which  of  these  three  "  bold,  manly  spirits  " 
would  you  have  me  to  resemble  ?  ' 

'  By  heaven  and  earth,  you  shall  resemble  us  all ! '  cried 
Hattersley,  starting  up  and  rudely  seizing  him  by  the  arm. 
'  Hallo,  Huntingdon ! '  he  shouted — '  I've  got  him  !  Come, 

man,  and  help  me !  And  d n  me,  if  I  don't  make  him 

drunk  before  I  let  him  go !  He  shall  make  up  for  all  past 
delinquencies  as  sure  as  I'm  a  living  soul ! ' 

There  followed  a  disgraceful  contest :  Lord  Lowborough, 
in  desperate  earnest,  and  pale  with  anger,  silently  struggling 
to  release  himself  from  the  powerful  madman  that  was 
striving  to  drag  him  from  the  room.  I  attempted  to  urge 
Arthur  to  interfere  in  behalf  of  his  outraged  guest,  but  he 
could  do  nothing  but  laugh. 

'  Huntingdon,  you  fool,  come  and  help  me,  can't  you  ! ' 
cried  Hattersley,  himself  somewhat  weakened  by  his  ex- 
cesses. 

'  I'm  wishing  you  God-speed,  Hattersley,'  cried  Arthur, 
'  and  aiding  you  with  my  prayers  :  I  can't  do  anything  else  if 
my  life  depended  on  it !  I'm  quite  used  up.  Oh — oh ! '  and 
leaning  back  in  his  seat,  he  clapped  his  hands  on  his  sides 
and  groaned  aloud. 

1  Annabella,  give  me  a  candle ! '  said  Lowborough, 
whose  antagonist  had  now  got  him  round  the  waist  and  was 
endeavouring  to  root  him  from  the  door-post,  to  which  he 
madly  clung  with  all  the  energy  of  desperation. 

'  I  shall  take  no  part  in  your  rude  sports ! '  replied  the 
lady  coldly  drawing  back.  '  I  wonder  you  can  expect  it.' 

But  I  snatched  up  a  candle  and  brought  it  to  him.  He 
took  it  and  held  the  flame  to  Hattersley's  hands,  till,  roaring 
like  a  wild  beast,  the  latter  unclasped  them  and  let  him  go. 


WILDFELL  HALL  279 

He  vanished,  I  suppose  to  his  own  apartment,  for  nothing 
more  was  seen  of  him  till  the  morning.  Swearing  and 
cursing  like  a  maniac,  Hattersley  threw  himself  on  to  the 
ottoman  beside  the  window.  The  door  being  now  free, 
Milicent  attempted  to  make  her  escape  from  the  scene  of  her 
husband's  disgrace ;  but  he  called  her  back,  and  insisted 
upon  her  coming  to  him. 

'  What  do  you  want,  Kalph  ?  '  murmured  she,  reluctantly 
approaching  him. 

'  I  want  to  know  what's  the  matter  with  you,'  said  he, 
pulling  her  on  to  his  knee  like  a  child.  '  What  are  you  crying 
for,  Milicent?— Tell  me  ! ' 

'  I'm  not  crying.' 

'You  are,'  persisted  he,  rudely  pulling  her  hands  from 
her  face.  '  How  dare  you  tell  such  a  lie  ! ' 

'  I'm  not  crying  now,'  pleaded  she. 

'  But  you  have  been,  and  just  this  minute  too  ;  and  I  will 
know  what  for,  Come,  now,  you  shall  tell  me ! ' 

'  Do  let  me  alone,  Ealph  !  Kemember,  we  are  not  at 
home.' 

4  No  matter :  you  shall  answer  my  question  ! '  exclaimed 
her  tormentor  ;  and  he  attempted  to  extort  the  confession  by 
shaking  her,  and  remorselessly  crushing  her  slight  arms  in 
the  gripe  of  his  powerful  fingers. 

'  Don't  let  him  treat  your  sister  in  that  way,'  said  I  to 
Mr.  Har grave. 

'  Come  now,  Hattersley,  I  can't  allow  that,'  said  that 
gentleman,  stepping  up  to  the  ill-assorted  couple.  '  Let  my 
sister  alone,  if  you  please.' 

And  he  made  an  effort  to  unclasp  the  ruffian's  fingers 
from  her  arm,  but  was  suddenly  driven  backward,  and 
nearly  laid  upon  the  floor  by  a  violent  blow  on  the  chest, 
accompanied  with  the  admonition,  '  Take  that  for  your  in- 
solence !  and  learn  to  interfere  between  me  and  mine  again.' 

'  If  you  were  not  drunk,  I'd  have  satisfaction  for  that ! ' 
gasped  Hargrave,  white  and  breathless  as  much  from  passion 
as  from  the  immediate  effects  of  the  blow. 


280  THE   TENANT  OF 

'  Go  to  the  devil ! '  responded  his  brother-in-law.  '  Now, 
Milicent,  tell  me  what  you  were  crying  for.' 

4  I'll  tell  you  some  other  time,'  murmured  she,  '  when  we 
are  alone.' 

1  Tell  me  now ! '  said  he,  with  another  shake  and  a 
squeeze  that  made  her  draw  in  her  breath  and  bite  her  lip  to 
suppress  a  cry  of  pain. 

I  I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Hattersley,'  said  I.     '  She  was  crying 
from  pure   shame   and   humiliation   for   you ;  because  she 
could  not  bear  to  see  you  conduct  yourself  so  disgracefully.' 

'  Confound  you,  Madam  ! '  muttered  he,  with  a  stare  of 
stupid  amazement  at  my  '  impudence.'  '  It  was  not  that — 
was  it,  Milicent  ? ' 

She  was  silent. 

'  Come,  speak  up,  child  ! ' 

I 1  can't  tell  now,'  sobbed  she. 

'But  you  can  say  " yes "  or  "no"  as  well  as  "I  can't 
tell."— Come  ! ' 

'  Yes,'  she  whispered,  hanging  her  head,  and  blushing  at 
the  awful  acknowledgment. 

'  Curse  you  for  an  impertinent  hussy,  then ! '  cried  he, 
throwing  her  from  him  with  such  violence  that  she  fell  on 
her  side ;  but  she  was  up  again  before  either  I  or  her  brother 
could  come  to  her  assistance,  and  made  the  best  of  her  way 
out  of  the  room,  and,  I  suppose,  up-stairs,  without  loss  of 
time. 

The  next  object  of  assault  was  Arthur,  who  sat  opposite, 
and  had,  no  doubt,  richly  enjoyed  the  whole  scene. 

'  Now,  Huntingdon,'  exclaimed  his  irascible  friend,  '  I 
will  not  have  you  sitting  there  and  laughing  like  an  idiot !  ' 

'  Oh,  Hattersley,'  cried  he,  wiping  his  swimming  eyes — 
'you'll  be  the  death  of  me.' 

'  Yes,  I  will,  but  not  as  you  suppose  :  I'll  have  the  heart 
out  of  your  body,  man,  if  you  irritate  me  with  any  more  of 
that  imbecile  laughter  ! — What !  are  you  at  it  yet  ? — There  ! 
see  if  that'll  settle  you  !  '  cried  Hattersley,  snatching  up  a 
footstool  and  hurling  it  at  the  head  of  his  host;  but  he 


WILDFELL  HALL  281 

missed  his  aim,  and  the  latter  still  sat  collapsed  and  quaking 
with  feeble   laughter,  with   tears   running   down   his  face  :* 
a  deplorable  spectacle  indeed. 

Hattersley  tried  cursing  and  swearing,  but  it  would  not 
do :  he  then  took  a  number  of  books  from  the  table  beside 
him,  and  threw  them,  one  by  one,  at  the  object  of  his  wrath ; 
but  Arthur  only  laughed  the  more ;  and,  finally,  Hattersley 
rushed  upon  him  in  a  frenzy  and  seizing  him  by  the 
shoulders,  gave  him  a  violent  shaking,  under  which  he 
laughed  and  shrieked  alarmingly.  But  I  saw  no  more  :  I 
thought  I  had  witnessed  enough  of  my  husband's  degrada- 
tion ;  and  leaving  Annabella  and  the  rest  to  follow  when 
they  pleased,  I  withdrew,  but  not  to  bed.  Dismissing  Eachel 
to  her  rest,  I  walked  up  and  down  my  room,  in  an  agony  of 
misery  for  what  had  been  done,  and  suspense,  not  knowing 
what  might  further  happen,  or  how  or  when  that  unhappy 
creature  would  come  up  to  bed. 

At  last  he  came,  slowly  and  stumblingly  ascending  the 
stairs,  supported  by  Grimsby  and  Hattersley,  who  neither  of 
them  walked  quite  steadily  themselves,  but  were  both 
laughing  and  joking  at  him,  and  making  noise  enough  for  all 
the  servants  to  hear.  He  himself  was  no  longer  laughing 
now,  but  sick  and  stupid.  I  will  write  no  more  about  that. 

Such  disgraceful  scenes  (or  nearly  such)  have  been 
repeated  more  than  once.  I  don't  say  much  to  Arthur  about 
it,  for,  if  I  did,  it  would  do  more  harm  than  good ;  but  I  let 
him  know  that  I  intensely  dislike  such  exhibitions ;  and 
each  time  he  has  promised  they  should  never  again  be 
repeated.  But  I  fear  he  is  losing  the  little  self-command 
and  self-respect  he  once  possessed  :  formerly,  he  would  have 
been  ashamed  to  act  thus — at  least,  before  any  other  wit- 
nesses than  his  boon  companions,  or  such  as  they.  His 
friend  Hargrave,  with  a  prudence  and  self-government  that 
I  envy  for  him,  never  disgraces  himself  by  taking  more  than 
sufficient  to  render  him  a  little  '  elevated,'  and  is  always  the 
first  to  leave  the  table  after  Lord  Lowborough,  who,  wiser 
still,  perseveres  in  vacating  the  dining-room  immediately 


282  THE  TENANT  OF 

after  us :  but  never  once,  since  Annabella  offended  him  so 
•deeply,  has  he  entered  the  drawing-room  before  the  rest  ; 
always  spending  the  interim  in  the  library,  which  I  take 
care  to  have  lighted  for  his  accommodation  ;  or,  on  fine 
moonlight  nights,  in  roaming  about  the  grounds.  But  I 
think  she  regrets  her  misconduct,  for  she  has  never  repeated 
it  since,  and  of  late  she  has  comported  herself  with  wonder- 
ful propriety  towards  him,  treating  him  with  more  uniform 
kindness  and  consideration  than  ever  I  have  observed  her  to 
do  before.  I  date  the  time  of  this  improvement  from  the 
period  when  she  ceased  to  hope  and  strive  for  Arthur's 
admiration. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

OCTOBER  5TH. — Esther  Hargrave  is  getting  a  fine  girl.  She 
is  not  out  of  the  school-room  yet,  but  her  mother  frequently 
brings  her  over  to  call  in  the  mornings  when  the  gentlemen 
are  out,  and  sometimes  she  spends  an  hour  or  two  in 
company  with  her  sister  and  me,  and  the  children ;  and 
when  we  go  to  the  Grove,  I  always  contrive  to  see  her,  and 
talk  more  to  her  than  to  any  one  else,  for  I  am  very  much 
attached  to  my  little  friend,  and  so  is  she  to  me.  I  wonder 
what  she  can  see  to  like  in  me  though,  for  I  am  no  longer 
the  happy,  lively  girl  I  used  to  be ;  but  she  has  no  other 
society,  save  that  of  her  uncongenial  mother,  and  her 
governess  (as  artificial  and  conventional  a  person  as  that 
prudent  mother  could  procure  to  rectify  the  pupil's  natural 
qualities),  and,  now  and  then,  her  subdued,  quiet  sister.  I 
often  wonder  what  will  be  her  lot  in  life,  and  so  does  she ; 
but  her  speculations  on  the  future  are  full  of  buoyant  hope ; 
so  were  mine  once.  I  shudder  to  think  of  her  being 
awakened,  like  me,  to  a  sense  of  their  delusive  vanity.  It 
seems  as  if  I  should  feel  her  disappointment,  even  more 
deeply  than  my  own.  I  feel  almost  as  if  I  were  born  for 
such  a  fate,  but  she  is  so  joyous  and  fresh,  so  light  of  heart 
and  free  of  spirit,  and  so  guileless  and  unsuspecting  too.  Oh, 
it  would  be  cruel  to  make  her  feel  as  I  feel  now,  and  know 
what  I  have  known  ! 

Her  sister  trembles  for  her  too.  Yesterday  morning,  one 
of  October's  brightest,  loveliest  days,  Milrcent  and  I  were 
in  the  garden  enjoying  a  brief  half -hour  together  with  our 
children,  while  Annabella  was  lying  on  the  drawing-room 
sofa,  deep  in  the  last  new  novel.  We  had  been  romping 


284  THE   TENANT  OF 

with  the  little  creatures,  almost  as  merry  and  wild  as 
themselves,  and  now  paused  in  the  shade  of  the  tall  copper 
beech,  to  recover  breath  and  rectify  our  hair,  disordered  by 
the  rough  play  and  the  frolicsome  breeze,  while  they  toddled 
together  along  the  broad,  sunny  walk ;  my  Arthur  supporting 
the  feebler  steps  of  her  little  Helen,  and  sagaciously  pointing 
out  to  her  the  brightest  beauties  of  the  border  as  they 
passed,  with  semi -articulate  prattle,  that  did  as  well  for  her 
as  any  other  mode  of  discourse.  From  laughing  at  the 
pretty  sight,  we  began  to  talk  of  the  children's  future  life  ; 
and  that  made  us  thoughtful.  We  both  relapsed  into  silent 
musing  as  we  slowly  proceeded  up  the  walk  ;  and  I  suppose 
Milicent,  by  a  train  of  associations,  was  led  to  think  of  her 
sister. 

'  Helen,'  said  she,  ' you  often  see  Esther,  don't  you? ' 

'  Not  very  often.' 

'But  you  have  more  frequent  opportunities  of  meeting 
her  than  J  have ;  and  she  loves  you,  I  know,  and  reverences 
you  too :  there  is  nobody's  opinion  she  thinks  so  much  of ; 
and  she  says  you  have  more  sense  than  mamma.' 

'That  is  because  she  is  self-willed,  and  my  opinions 
more  generally  coincide  with  her  own  than  your  mamma's. 
But  what  then,  Milioent  ? ' 

'  Well,  since  you  have  so  much  influence  with  her, 
I  wish  you  would  seriously  impress  it  upon  her,  never, 
on  any  account,  or  for  anybody's  persuasion,  to  marry  for 
the  sake  of  money,  or  rank,  or  establishment,  or  any  earthly 
thing,  but  true  affection  and  well-grounded  esteem.' 

'  There  is  no  necessity  for  that,'  said  I,  '  for  we  have  had 
some  discourse  on  that  subject  already,  and  I  assure  you  her 
ideas  of  love  and  matrimony  are  as  romantic  as  any  one 
could  desire.' 

'  But  romantic  notions  will  not  do  :  I  want  her  to  have 
true  notions.' 

'  Very  right :  but  in  my  judgment,  what  the  world 
stigmatises  as  romantic,  is  often  more  nearly  allied  to  the 
truth  than  is  commonly  supposed ;  for,  if  the  generous  ideas 


WILDFELL  HALL  285 

of  youth  are  too  often  over-clouded   by   the   sordid   views 
of  after-life,  that  scarcely  proves  them  to  be  false.' 

'  Well,  but  if  you  think  her  ideas  are  what  they  ought  to 
be,  strengthen  them,  will  you  ?  and  confirm  them,  as  far  as 

you  can ;  for  I  had  romantic  notions  once,  and 1  don't 

mean  to  say  that  I  regret  my  lot,  for  I  am  quite  sure  I  don't, 
but ' 

'  I  understand  you,'  said  I ;  '  you  are  contented  for 
yourself,  but  you  would  not  have  your  sister  to  suffer  the 
same  as  you.' 

No — or  worse.  She  might  have  far  worse  to  suffer 
than  I,  for  I  am  really  contented,  Helen,  though  you  mayn't 
think  it :  I  speak  the  solemn  truth  in  saying  that  I  would 
not  exchange  my  husband  for  any  man  on  earth,  if  I  might 
do  it  by  the  plucking  of  this  leaf.' 

'  WeU,  I  believe  you :  now  that  you  have  him,  you 
would  not  exchange  him  for  another ;  but  then  you  would 
gladly  exchange  some  of  his  qualities  for  those  of  better 
men.' 

'  Yes :  just  as  I  would  gladly  exchange  some  of  my  own 
qualities  for  those  of  better  women  ;  for  neither  he  nor  I  are 
perfect,  and  I  desire  his  improvement  as  earnestly  as  my 
own.  And  he  will  improve,  don't  you  think  so,  Helen  ?  he's 
only  six-and-twenty  yet.' 

'  He  may,'  I  answered, 

'  He  will,  he  WILL  ! '  repeated  she. 

'  Excuse  the  faintness  of  my  acquiescence,  Milicent. 
I  would  not  discourage  your  hopes  for  the  world,  but  mine 
have  been  so  often  disappointed,  that  I  am  become  as  cold 
and  doubtful  in  my  expectations  as  the  flattest  of  octo- 
genarians.' 

'  And  yet  you  do  hope,  still,  even  for  Mr.  Huntingdon  ? ' 

'  I  do,  I  confess,  "  even  "  for  him  ;  for  it  seems  as  if  life 
and  hope  must  cease  together.  And  is  he  so  much  worse, 
Milicent,  than  Mr.  Hattersley  ?  ' 

'  Well,  to  give  you  my  candid  opinion,  I  think  there  is  no 
comparison  between  them.  But  you  mustn't  be  offended, 


286  THE  TENANT  OF 

Helen,  for  you  know  I  always  speak  my  mind,  and  you  may 
speak  yours  too.  I  sha'n't  care.' 

'  I  am  not  offended,  love  ;  and  my  opinion  is,  that  if 
there  be  a  comparison  made  between  the  two,  the  difference, 
for  the  most  part,  is  certainly  in  Hattersley's  favour.' 

Milicent's  own  heart  told  her  how  much  it  cost  me  to 
make  this  acknowledgment ;  and,  with  a  childlike  impulse, 
she  expressed  her  sympathy  by  suddenly  kissing  my  cheek, 
without  a  word  of  reply,  and  then  turning  quickly  away, 
caught  up  her  baby,  and  hid  her  face  in  its  frock.  How  odd 
it  is  that  we  so  often  weep  for  each  other's  distresses,  when 
we  shed  not  a  tear  for  our  own  !  Her  heart  had  been  full 
enough  of  her  own  sorrows,  but  it  overflowed  at  the  idea  of 
mine  ;  and  I,  too,  shed  tears  at  the  sight  of  her  sympathetic 
emotion,  though  I  had  not  wept  for  myself  for  many  a  week. 

It  was  one  rainy  day  last  week ;  most  of  the  company 
were  killing  time  in  the  billiard-room,  but  Milicent  and  I 
were  with  little  Arthur  and  Helen  in  the  library,  and 
between  our  books,  our  children,  and  each  other,  we  expected 
to  make  out  a  very  agreeable  morning.  We  had  not  been 
thus  secluded  above  two  hours,  however,  when  Mr.  Hattersley 
came  in,  attracted,  I  suppose,  by  the  voice  of  his  child,  as  he 
was  crossing  the  hall,  for  he  is  prodigiously  fond  of  her,  and 
she  of  him. 

He  was  redolent  of  the  stables,  where  he  had  been 
regaling  himself  with  the  company  of  his  fellow-creatures 
the  horses  ever  since  breakfast.  But  that  was  no  matter  to 
my  little  namesake ;  as  soon  as  the  colossal  person  of  her 
father  darkened  the  door,  she  uttered  a  shrill  scream  of 
delight,  and,  quitting  her  mother's  side,  ran  crowing 
towards  him,  balancing  her  course  with  outstretched  arms, 
and  embracing  his  knee,  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed 
in  his  face.  He  might  well  look  smilingly  down  upon 
those  small,  fair  features,  radiant  with  innocent  mirth,  those 
clear  blue  shining  eyes,  and  that  soft  flaxen  hair  cast  back 
upon  the  little  ivory  neck  and  shoulders.  Did  he  not  think 
how  unworthy  he  was  of  such  a  possession  ?  I  fear  no  such 


WILDFELL  HALL  287 

idea  crossed  his  mind.  He  caught  her  up,  and  there 
followed  some  minutes  of  very  rough  play,  during  which  it 
is  difficult  to  say  whether  the  father  or  the  daughter  laughed 
and  shouted  the  loudest.  At  length,  however,  the  boisterous 
pastime  terminated,  suddenly,  as  might  be  expected:  the 
little  one  was  hurt,  and  began  to  cry ;  and  the  ungentle  play- 
fellow tossed  it  into  its  mother's  lap,  bidding  her  '  make  all 
straight.'  As  happy  to  return  to  that  gentle  comforter  as  it 
had  been  to  leave  her,  the  child  nestled  in  her  arms,  and 
hushed  its  cries  in  a  moment ;  and  sinking  its  little  weary 
head  on  her  bosom,  soon  dropped  asleep. 

Meantime  Mr.  Hattersley  strode  up  to  the  fire,  and 
interposing  his  height  and  breadth  between  us  and  it,  stood 
with  arms  akimbo,  expanding  his  chest,  and  gazing  round 
him  as  if  the  house  and  all  its  appurtenances  and  contents 
were  his  own  undisputed  possessions. 

'  Deuced  bad  weather  this ! '  he  began.  '  There'll  be  no 
shooting  to-day,  I  guess.'  Then,  suddenly  lifting  up  his 
voice,  he  regaled  us  with  a  few  bars  of  a  rollicking  song, 
which  abruptly  ceasing,  he  finished  the  tune  with  a  whistle, 
and  then  continued : — '  I  say,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  what  a  fine 
stud  your  husband  has  !  not  large,  but  good.  I've  been 
looking  at  them  a  bit  this  morning;  and  upon  my  word, 
Black  Bess,  and  Grey  Tom,  and  that  young  Nimrod  are  the 
finest  animals  I've  seen  for  many  a  day ! '  Then  followed  a 
particular  discussion  of  their  various  merits,  succeeded  by  a 
sketch  of  the  great  things  he  intended  to  do  in  the  horse- 
jockey  line,  when  his  old  governor  thought  proper  to  quit 
the  stage.  '  Not  that  I  wish  him  to  close  his  accounts,' 
added  he  :  '  the  old  Trojan  is  welcome  to  keep  his  books 
open  as  long  as  he  pleases  for  me.' 

'  I  hope  so,  indeed,  Mr.  Hattersley.' 

'  Oh,  yes !  It's  only  my  way  of  talking.  The  event 
must  come  some  time,  and  so  I  look  to  the  bright  side  of  it : 
that's  the  right  plan — isn't  it,  Mrs.  H.  ?  What  are  you  two 
dofng  here  ?  By-the-by,  where's  Lady  Lowborough  ? ' 

'In  the  billiard-room,' 


288  THE   TENANT   OF 

'  What  a  splendid  creature  she  is  !  '  continued  he,  fixing 
his  eyes  on  his  wife,  who  changed  colour,  and  looked  more 
and  more  disconcerted  as  he  proceeded.  'What  a  noble 
figure  she  has  ;  and  what  magnificent  black  eyes  ;  and  what 
a  fine  spirit  of  her  own ;  and  what  a  tongue  of  her  own,  too, 
when  she  likes  to  use  it.  I  perfectly  adore  her !  But  never 
mind,  Milicent:  I  wouldn't  have  her  for  my  wife,  not  if 
she'd  a  kingdom  for  her  dowry  I  I'm  better  satisfied  with 
the  one  I  have.  Now  then  !  what  do  you  look  so  sulky  for  ? 
don't  you  believe  me  ? ' 

'  Yes,  I  believe  you,'  murmured  she,  in  a  tone  of  half  sad, 
half  sullen  resignation,  as  she  turned  away  to  stroke  the 
hair  of  her  sleeping  infant,  that  she  had  laid  on  the  sofa 
beside  her. 

'  Well,  then,  what  makes  you  so  cross  ?  Come  here, 
Milly,  and  tell  me  why  you  can't  be  satisfied  with  my 
assurance.' 

She  went,  and  putting  her  little  hand  within  his  arm, 
looked  up  in  his  face,  and  said  softly, — 

'  What  does  it  amount  to,  Ealph  ?  Only  to  this,  that 
though  you  admire  Annabella  so  much,  and  for  qualities  that 
I  don't  possess,  you  would  still  rather  have  me  than  her  for 
your  wife,  which  merely  proves  that  you  don't  think 
it  necessary  to  love  your  wife ;  you  are  satisfied  if  she  can 
keep  your  house,  and  take  care  of  your  child.  But  I'm  not 
cross  ;  I'm  only  sorry ;  for,'  added  she,  in  a  low,  tremulous 
accent,  withdrawing  her  hand  from  his  arm,  and  bending  her 
looks  on  the  rug,  '  if  you  don't  love  me,  you  don't,  and  it 
can't  be  helped.' 

'Very  true;  but  who  told  you  I  didn't?  Did  I  say  I 
loved  Annabella  ? ' 

'  You  said  you  adored  her.' 

'  True,  but  adoration  isn't  love.  I  adore  Annabella,  but  I 
don't  love  her  ;  and  I  love  thee,  Milicent,  but  I  don't  adore 
thee.'  In  proof  of  his  affection,  he  clutched  a  handful  of  her 
light  brown  ringlets,  and  appeared  to  twist  them  mn- 
mercifully. 


WILDFELL  HALL  289 

'  Do  you  really,  Ralph  ? '  murmured  she,  with  a  faint 
smile  beaming  through  her  tears,  just  putting  up  her  hand  to 
his,  in  token  that  he  pulled  rather  too  hard. 

'  To  be  sure  I  do,'  responded  he  :  '  only  you  bother  me 
rather,  sometimes.' 

'  I  bother  you  ! '  cried  she,  in  very  natural  surprise. 
1  Yes,  you — but  only  by  your  exceeding  goodness. 
When  a  boy  has  been  eating  raisins  and  sugar-plums  all  day, 
he  longs  for  a  squeeze  of  sour  orange  by  way  of  a  change. 
And  did  you  never,  Milly,  observe  the  sands  on  the  sea- 
shore ;  how  nice  and  smooth  they  look,  and  how  soft  and 
easy  they  feel  to  the  foot  ?  But  if  you  plod  along,  for  half 
an  hour,  over  this  soft,  easy  carpet — giving  way  at  every 
step,  yielding  the  more  the  harder  you  press, — you'll  find 
it  rather  wearisome  work,  and  be  glad  enough  to  come  to 
a  bit  of  good,  firm  rock,  that  won't  budge  an  inch  whether 
you  stand,  walk,  or  stamp  upon  it ;  and,  though  it  be  hard 
as  the  nether  millstone,  you'll  find  it  the  easier  footing 
after  all.' 

'I  know  what  you  mean,  Ralph,'  said  she,  nervously 
playing  with  her  watchguard  and  tracing  the  figure  on  the 
rug  with  the  point  of  her  tiny  foot — '  I  know  what  you  mean  : 
but  I  thought  you  always  liked  to  be  yielded  to,  and  I  can't 
alter  now.' 

'  I  do  like  it,'  replied  he,  bringing  her  to  him  by  another 
tug  at  her  hair.  '  You  mustn't  mind  my  talk,  Milly.  A 
man  must  have  something  to  grumble  about ;  and  if  he  can't 
complain  that  his  wife  harries  him  to  death  with  her 
perversity  and  ill-humour,  he  must  complain  that  she  wears 
him  out  with  her  kindness  and  gentleness.' 

'  But  why  complain  at  all,  unless  because  you  are  tired 
and  dissatisfied  ? ' 

'  To  excuse  my  own  failings,  to  be  sure.  Do  you  think 
I'll  bear  all  the  burden  of  my  sins  on  my  own  shoulders,  as 
long  as  there's  another  ready  to  help  me,  with  none  of  her 
own  to  carry  ?  ' 

4  There  is  no  such  one  on  earth,'  said  she  seriously  ;  and 


290  THE  TENANT  OF 

then,  taking  his  hand  from  her  head,  she  kissed  it  with  an 
air  of  genuine  devotion,  and  tripped  away  to  the  door. 

'  What  now  ?  '  said  he.     '  Where  are  you  going  ?  ' 

'  To  tidy  my  hair,'  she  answered,  smiling  through  her 
disordered  locks ;  '  you've  made  it  all  come  down.' 

1  Off  with  you  then  !  —  An  excellent  little  woman,'  he 
remarked  when  she  was  gone,  '  but  a  thought  too  soft — she 
almost  melts  in  one's  hands.  I  positively  think  I  ill-use  her 
sometimes,  when  I've  taken  too  much— but  I  can't  help  it, 
for  she  never  complains,  either  at  the  time  or  after.  I 
suppose  she  doesn't  mind  it.' 

'  I  can  enlighten  you  on  that  subject,  Mr.  Hattersley,' 
said  I :  '  she  does  mind  it ;  and  some  other  things  she  minds 
still  more,  which  yet  you  may  never  hear  her  complain  of.' 

'  How  do  you  know  ? — does  she  complain  to  you  ?  ' 
demanded  he,  with  a  sudden  spark  of  fury  ready  to  burst  into 
a  flame  if  I  should  answer  "  yes." 

'  No,'  I  replied ;  '  but  I  have  known  her  longer  and 
studied  her  more  closely  than  you  have  done. — And  I  can 
tell  you,  Mr.  Hattersley,  that  Milicent  loves  you  more  than 
you  deserve,  and  that  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  make  her 
very  happy,  instead  of  which  you  are  her  evil  genius,  and,  I 
will  venture  to  say,  there  is  not  a  single  day  passes  in  which 
you  do  not  inflict  upon  her  some  pang  that  you  might  spare 
her  if  you  would.' 

'  Well — it's  not  my  fault,'  said  he,  gating  carelessly  up  at 
the  ceiling  and  plunging  his  hands  into  his  pockets  :  '  if  my 
ongoings  don't  suit  her,  she  should  tell  me  so.' 

'  Is  she  not  exactly  the  wife  you  wanted  ?  Did  you  not 
tell  Mr.  Huntingdon  you  must  have  one  that  would  submit 
to  anything  without  a  murmur,  and  never  blame  you,  what- 
ever you  did  ? ' 

'  True,  but  we  shouldn't  always  have  what  we  want :  it 
spoils  the  best  of  us,  doesn't  it  ?  How  can  I  help  playing 
the  deuce  when  I  see  it's  all  one  to  her  whether  I  behave  like 
a  Christian  or  like  a  scoundrel,  such  as  nature  made  me  ?  and 
how  can  I  holp  teasing  her  when  she's  so  invitingly  meek 


WILDFELL  HALL  291 

and  mim,  when  she  lies  down  like  a  spaniel  at  my  feet  and 
never  so  much  as  squeaks  to  tell  me  that's  enough  ? ' 

'  If  you  are  a  tyrant  by  nature,  the  temptation  is  strong, 
I  allow ;  but  no  generous  mind  delights  to  oppress  the  weak, 
but  rather  to  cherish  and  protect.' 

'  I  don't  oppress  her ;  but  it's  so  confounded  flat  to  be 
always  cherishing  and  protecting  ;  and  then,  how  can  I  tell 
that  I  am  oppressing  her  when  she  "  melts  away  and  makes 
no  sign  "  ?  I  sometimes  think  she  has  no  feeling  at  all ;  and 
then  I  go  on  till  she  cries,  and  that  satisfies  me.' 
1  Then  you  do  delight  to  oppress  her  ? ' 
'  I  don't,  I  tell  you !  only  when  I'm  in  a  bad  humour,  or 
a  particularly  good  one,  and  want  to  afflict  for  the  pleasure 
of  comforting ;  or  when  she  looks  flat  and  wants  shaking  up 
a  bit.  And  sometimes  she  provokes  me  by  crying  for 
nothing,  and  won't  tell  me  what  it's  for  ;  and  then,  I  allow, 
it  enrages  me  past  bearing,  especially  when  I'm  not  my  own 
man.' 

'  As  is  no  doubt  generally  the  case  on  such  occasions,' 
said  I.  '  But  in  future,  Mr.  Hattersley,  when  you  see  her 
looking  flat,  or  crying  for  "nothing  "  (as  you  call  it),  ascribe 
it  all  to  yourself :  be  assured  it  is  something  you  have  done 
amiss,  or  your  general  misconduct,  that  distresses  her.' 

'  I  don't  believe  it.  If  it  were,  she  should  tell  me  so :  I 
don't  like  that  way  of  moping  and  fretting  in  silence,  and 
saying  nothing :  it's  not  honest.  How  can  she  expect  me  to 
mend  my  ways  at  that  rate  ? ' 

1  Perhaps  she  gives  you  credit  for  having  more  sense  than 
you  possess,  and  deludes  herself  with  the  hope  that  you  will 
one  day  see  your  own  errors  and  repair  them,  if  left  to  your 
own  reflection.' 

'  None  of  your  sneers,  Mrs.  Huntingdon.  I  have  the 
sense  to  see  that  I'm  not  always  quite  correct,  but  sometimes 
I  think  that's  no  great  matter,  as  long  as  I  injure  nobody 
but  myself ' 

'It  is  a  great  matter,'  interrupted  I,  '  both  to  yourself 
(as  you  will  hereafter  find  to  your  cost)  and  to  all  connected, 


292  THE  TENANT  OF 

with  you,  most  especially  your  wife.  But,  indeed,  it  is 
nonsense  to  talk  about  injuring  no  one  but  yourself :  it  is 
impossible  to  injure  yourself,  especially  by  such  acts  as  we 
allude  to,  without  injuring  hundreds,  if  not  thousands, 
besides,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  either  by  the  evil  you  do 
or  the  good  you  leave  undone.' 

'  And  as  I  was  saying,'  continued  he,  '  or  would  have  said 
if  you  hadn't  taken  me  up  so  short,  I  sometimes  think  I 
should  do  better  if  I  were  joined  to  one  that  would  always 
remind  me  when  I  was  wrong,  and  give  me  a  motive  for 
doing  good  and  eschewing  evil,  by  decidedly  showing  her 
approval  of  the  one  and  disapproval  of  the  other.' 

1  If  you  had  no  higher  motive  than  the  approval  of  your 
fellow-mortal,  it  would  do  you  little  good.' 

'  Well,  but  if  I  had  a  mate  that  would  not  always  be 
yielding,  and  always  equally  kind,  but  that  would  have 
the  spirit  to  stand  at  bay  now  and  then,  and  honestly  tell 
me  her  mind  at  all  times,  such  a  one  as  yourself  for  instance. 
Now,  if  I  went  on  with  you  as  I  do  with  her  when  I'm  in 
London,  you'd  make  the  house  too  hot  to  hold  me  at  times, 
I'll  be  sworn.' 

1  You  mistake  me  :  I'm  no  termagant.' 

'  Well,  all  the  better  for  that,  for  I  can't  stand  contradic- 
tion, in  a  general  way,  and  I'm  as  fond  of  my  own  will  as 
another  ;  only  I  think  too  much  of  it  doesn't  answer  for  any 
man.' 

'  Well,  I  would  never  contradict  you  without  a  cause,  but 
certainly  I  would  always  let  you  know  what  I  thought  of 
your  conduct ;  and  if  you  oppressed  me,  in  body,  mind,  or 
estate,  you  should  at  least  have  no  reason  to  suppose  "  I 
didn't  mind  it."  ' 

'  I  know  that,  my  lady  ;  and  I  think  if  my  little  wife  were 
to  follow  the  same  plan,  it  would  be  better  for  us  both.' 

'  I'll  tell  her.' 

'  No,  no,  let  her  be ;  there's  much  to  be  said  on  both  sides, 
and,  now  I  think  upon  it,  Huntingdon  often  regrets  that  you 
jare  not  more  like  her,  scoundrelly  dog  that  he  is,  and  you  see, 


WILDFELL  HALL  293 

after  all,  you  can't  reform  him :  he's  ten  times  worse  than  I. 
He's  afraid  of  you,  to  be  sure ;  that  is,  he's  always  on  his  best 
behaviour  in  your  presence — but  — 

'  I  wonder  what  his  worst  behaviour  is  like,  then  ? '  I 
could  not  forbear  observing. 

'  Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  it's  very  bad  indeed — isn?t  it, 
Hargrave  ?  '  said  he,  addressing  that  gentleman,  who  had 
entered  the  room  unperceived  by  me,  for  I  was  now  standing 
near  the  fire,  with  my  back  to  the  door.  '  Isn't  Huntingdon,' 
he  continued,  '  as  great  a  reprobate  as  ever  was  d d  ? ' 

'  His  lady  will  not  hear  him  censured  with  impunity,' 
replied  Mr.  Hargrave,  coming  forward ;  '  but  I  must  say,  I 
thank  God  I  am  not  such  another.' 

'  Perhaps  it  would  become  you  better,'  said  I,  '  to  look  at 
what  you  are,  and  say,  "  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner."  ' 

'  You  are  severe,'  i~eturned  he,  bowing  slightly  and  draw- 
ing himself  up  with  a  proud  yet  injured  air.  Hattersley 
laughed,  and  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  Moving  from 
under  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  insulted  dignity,  Mr.  Har- 
grave took  himself  away  to  the  other  end  of  the  rug. 

'  Isn't  it  a  shame,  Mrs.  Huntingdon  ?  '  cried  his  brother- 
in-law  ;  '  I  struck  Walter  Hargrave  when  I  was  drunk,  the 
second  night  after  we  came,  and  he's  turned  a  cold  shoulder 
on  me  ever  since  ;  though  I  asked  his  pardon  the  very  morn- 
ing after  it  was  done  ! ' 

'  Your  manner  of  asking  it,'  returned  the  other,  '  and  the 
clearness  with  which  you  remembered  the  whole  transaction, 
showed  you  were  not  too  drunk  to  be  fully  conscious  of  what 
you  were  about,  and  quite  responsible  for  the  deed.' 

'  You  wanted  to  interfere  between  me  and  my  wife,' 
grumbled  Hattersley,  '  and  that  is  enough  to  provoke  any 
man.' 

'  You  justify  it,  then  ?  '  said  his  opponent,  darting  upon 
him  a  most  vindictive  glance. 

'No,  I  tell  you  I  wouldn't  have  done  it  if  I  hadn't  been 
under  excitement ;  and  if  you  choose  to  bear  malice  for  it 
after  all  the  handsome  things  I've  said,  do  so  and  be  d d ! ' 


294  THE  TENANT   OF 

'  I  would  refrain  from  such  language  in  a  lady's  presence, 
at  least,'  said  Mr.  Hargrave,  hiding  his  anger  under  a  mask 
of  disgust. 

'  What  have  I  said  ? '  returned  Hattersley  :  '  nothing  but 
heaven's  truth.  He  will  be  damned,  won't  he,  Mrs.  Hunt- 
ingdon, if  he  doesn't  forgive  his  brother's  trespasses  ?  ' 

'  You  ought  to  forgive  him,  Mr.  Hargrave,  since  he  asks 
you,'  said  I. 

\  '  Do  you  say  so  ?  Then  I  will ! '  And,  smiling  almost 
frankly,  he  stepped  forward  and  offered  his  hand.  It  was 
immediately  clasped  in  that  of  his  relative,  and  the  reconcilia- 
tion was  apparently  cordial  on  both  sides. 

'  The  affront,'  continued  Hargrave,  turning  to  me,  '  owed 
half  its  bitterness  to  the  fact  of  its  being  offered  in  your 
presence ;  and  since  you  bid  me  forgive  it,  I  will,  and  forget 
it  too.' 

'  I  guess  the  best  return  I  can  make  will  be  to  take  my- 
self off,'  muttered  Hattersley,  with  a  broad  grin.  His  com- 
panion smiled,  and  he  left  the  room.  This  put  me  on  my 
guard.  Mr.  Hargrave  turned  seriously  to  me,  and  earnestly 
began, — 

'  Dear  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  how  I  have  longed  for,  yet 
dreaded,  this  hour !  Do  not  be  alarmed,'  he  added,  for  my 
face  was  crimson  with  anger  :  '  I  am  not  about  to  offend  you 
with  any  useless  entreaties  or  complaints.  I  am  not  going 
to  presume  to  trouble  you  with  the  mention  of  my  own  feel- 
ings or  your  perfections,  but  I  have  something  to  reveal  to 
you  which  you  ought  to  know,  and  which,  yet,  it  pains  me 
inexpressibly ' 

'  Then  don't  trouble  yourself  to  reveal  it ! ' 

'  But  it  is  of  importance  — 

'  If  so  I  shall  hear  it  soon  enough,  especially  if  it  is  bad 
news,  as  you  seem  to  consider  it.  At  present  I  am  going  to 
take  the  children  to  the  nursery.' 

'  But  can't  you  ring  and  send  them  ?  ' 

'  No ;  I  want  the  exercise  of  a  run  to  the  top  of  the 
house.  Come,  Arthur.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  295 

'  But  you  will  return  ?  ' 

'  Not  yet ;  don't  wait.' 

'  Then  when  may  I  see  you  again  ?  ' 

'  At  lunch/  said  I,  departing  with  little  Helen  in  one  arm 
and  leading  Arthur  by  the  hand. 

He  turned  away,  muttering  some  sentence  of  impatient 
censure  or  complaint,  in  which  'heartless'  was  the  only 
distinguishable  word. 

'  What  nonsense  is  this,  Mr.  Hargrave  ?  '  said  I,  pausing 
in  the  doorway.  '  What  do  you  mean  ? ' 

'  Oh,  nothing ;  I  did  not  intend  you  should  hear  my 
soliloquy.  But  the  fact  is,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  I  have  a  dis- 
closure to  make,  painful  for  me  to  offer  as  for  you  to  hear ; 
and  I  want  you  to  give  me  a  few  minutes  of  your  attention 
in  private  at  any  time  and  place  you  like  to  appoint.  It  is 
from  no  selfish  motive  that  I  ask  it,  and  not  for  any  cause 
that  could  alarm  your  superhuman  purity  :  therefore  you 
need  not  kill  me  with  that  look  of  cold  and  pitiless  disdain. 
I  know  too  well  the  feelings  with  which  the  bearers  of  bad 
tidings  are  commonly  regarded  not  to ' 

'  What  is  this  wonderful  piece  of  intelligence  ? '  said 
I,  impatiently  interrupting  him.  '  If  it  is  anything  of  real 
importance,  speak  it  in  three  words  before  I  go.' 

'  In  three  words  I  cannot.  Send  those  children  away 
and  stay  with  me.' 

'  No  ;  keep  your  bad  tidings  to  yourself.  I  know  it  is 
something  I  don't  want  to  hear,  and  something  you  would 
displease  me  by  telling." 

'  You  have  divined  too  truly,  I  fear ;  but  still,  since 
I  know  it,  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  disclose  it  to  you.' 

'  Oh,  spare  us  both  the  infliction,  and  I  will  exonerate 
you  from  the  duty.  You  have  offered  to  tell ;  I  have  refused 
to  hear :  my  ignorance  will  not  be  charged  on  you.' 

'  Be  it  so  :  you  shall  not  hear  it  from  me.  But  if  the 
blow  fall  too  suddenly  upon  you  when  it  comes,  remember  I 
wished  to  soften  it ! ' 

I  left   him.     I   was   determined   his   words   should   not 


296  THE   TENANT  OF 

alarm  me.  What  could  he,  of  all  men,  have  to  reveal  that 
was  of  importance  for  me  to  hear  ?  It  was  no  doubt  some 
exaggerated  tale  about  my  unfortunate  husband  that  he 
wished  to  make  the  most  of  to  serve  his  own  bad  purposes. 

6th. — He  has  not  alluded  to  this  momentous  mystery 
since,  and  I  have  seen  no  reason  to  repent  of  my  unwilling- 
ness to  hear  it.  The  threatened  blow  has  not  been  struck 
yet,  and  I  do  not  greatly  fear  it.  At  present  I  am  pleased 
with  Arthur  :  he  has  not  positively  disgraced  himself  for 
upwards  of  a  fortnight,  and  all  this  last  week  has  been  so 
very  moderate  in  his  indulgence  at  table  that  I  can  perceive 
a  marked  difference  in  his  general  temper  and  appearance. 
Dare  I  hope  this  will  continue  ? 


CHAPTEE   XXXIII 

SEVENTH. — Yes,  I  will  hope!  To-night  I  heard  Grimsby 
and  Hattersley  grumbling  together  about  the  inhospitality  of 
their  host.  They  did  not  know  I  was  near,  for  I  happened 
to  be  standing  behind  the  curtain  in  the  bow  of  the  window, 
watching  the  moon  rising  over  the  clump  of  tall  dark  elm- 
trees  below  the  lawn,  and  wondering  why  Arthur  was  so 
sentimental  as  to  stand  without,  leaning  against  the  outer 
pillar  of  the  portico,  apparently  watching  it  too. 

'  So,  I  suppose  we've  seen  the  last  of  our  merry  carousals 
in  this  house,'  said  Mr.  Hattersley ;  '  I  thought  his  good- 
fellowship  wouldn't  last  long.  -  But,'  added  he,  laughing,  '  I 
didn't  expect  it  would  meet  its  end  this  way.  I  rather 
thought  our  pretty  hostess  would  be  setting  up  her  porcupine 
quills,  and  threatening  to  turn  us  out  of  the  house  if  we 
didn't  mind  our  manners.' 

1  You  didn't  foresee  this,  then  ? '  answered  Grimsby,  with 
a  guttural  chuckle.  '  But  he'll  change  again  when  he's  sick 
of  her.  If  we  come  here  a  year  or  two  hence,  we  shall  have 
all  our  own  way,  you'll  see.' 

'  I  don't  know,'  replied  the  other :  '  she's  not  the  style  of 
woman  you  soon  tire  of.  But  be  that  as  it  may,  it's  devilish 
provoking  now  that  we  can't  be  jolly,  because  he  chooses  to 
be  on  his  good  behaviour.' 

'  It's  all  these  cursed  women  ! '  muttered  Grimsby : 
'  they're  the  very  bane  of  the  world  !  They  bring  trouble 
and  discomfort  wherever  they  come,  with  their  false,  fair 
faces  and  their  deceitful  tongues.' 

At  this  juncture  I  issued  from  my  retreat,  and  smiling  on 
Mr.  Grimsby  as  I  passed,  left  the  room  and  weat  put  in 


298  THE  TENANT  OF 

search  of  Arthur.  Having  seen  him  bend  his  course  towards 
the  shrubbery,  I  followed  him  thither,  and  found  him  just 
entering  the  shadowy  walk.  I  was  so  light  of  heart,  so 
overflowing  with  affection,  that  I  sprang  upon  him  and 
clasped  him  in  my  arms.  This  startling  conduct  had  a 
singular  effect  upon  him  :  first,  he  murmured,  '  Bless  you, 
darling ! '  and  returned  my  close  embrace  with  a  fervour  like 
old  times,  and  then  he  started,  and,  in  a  tone  of  absolute 
terror,  exclaimed,  '  Helen !  what  the  devil  is  this  ? '  and  I 
saw,  by  the  faint  light  gleaming  through  the  overshadowing 
tree,  that  he  was  positively  pale  with  the  shock. 

How  strange  that  the  instinctive  impulse  of  affection 
should  come  first,  and  then  the  shock  of  the  surprise  !  It 
shows,  at  least,  that  the  affection  is  genuine  :  he  is  not  sick 
of  me  yet. 

'  I  startled  you,  Arthur,'  said  I,  laughing  in  my  glee. 
'  How  nervous  you  are  ! ' 

'  What  the  deuce  did  you  do  it  for  ?  '  cried  he,  quite  testily, 
extricating  himself  from  my  arms,  and  wiping  his  forehead 
with  his  handkerchief.  '  Go  back,  Helen — go  back  directly ! 
You'll  get  your  death  of  cold  ! ' 

1 1  won't,  till  I've  told  you  what  I  came  for.  They  are 
blaming  you,  Arthur,  for  your  temperance  and  sobriety,  and 
I'm  come  to  thank  you  for  it.  They  say  it  is  all  "  these 
cursed  women,"  and  that  we  are  the  bane  of  the  world  ;  but 
don't  let  them  laugh  or  grumble  you  out  of  your  good 
resolutions,  or  your  affection  for  me.' 

He  laughed.  I  squeezed  him  in  my  arms  again,  and 
cried  in  tearful  earnest,  '  Do,  do  persevere !  and  I'll  love  you 
better  than  ever  I  did  before ! ' 

'  Well,  well,  I  will ! '  said  he,  hastily  kissing  me.  '  There, 
now,  go.  You  mad  creature,  how  could  you  come  out  in 
your  light  evening  dress  this  chill  autumn  night  ? ' 

'  It  is  a  glorious  night,'  said  I. 

'  It  is  a  night  that  will  give  you  your  death,  in  another 
minute.  Kun  away,  do ! ' 

'  Do  you  see  my  death  among  those  trees,  Arthur  ?  '  said 


WILDFELL  HALL  299 

I,  for  he  was  gazing  intently  at  the  shrubs,  as  if  he  saw  it 
coming,  and  I  was  reluctant  to  leave  him,  in  my  new-found 
happiness  and  revival  of  hope  and  love.  But  he  grew  angry 
at  my  delay,  so  I  kissed  him  and  ran  back  to  the  house. 

I  was  in  such  a  good  humour  that  night :  Milicent  told  me 
I  was  the  life  of  the  party,  and  whispered  she  had  never  seen 
me  so  brilliant.  Certainly,  I  talked  enough  for  twenty,  and 
smiled  upon  them  all.  Grimsby,  Hattersley,  Hargrave, 
Lady  Lowborough,  all  shared  my  sisterly  kindness. 
Grimsby  stared  and  wondered ;  Hattersley  laughed  and 
jested  (in  spite  of  the  little  wine  he  had  been  suffered  to 
imbibe),  but  still  behaved  as  well  as  he  knew  how.  Hargrave 
and  Annabella,  from  different  motives  and  in  different  ways, 
emulated  me,  and  doubtless  both  surpassed  me,  the  former 
in  his  discursive  versatility  and  eloquence,  the  latter  in  bold- 
ness and  animation  at  least.  Milicent,  delighted  to  see  her 
husband,  her  brother,  and  her  over-estimated  friend 
acquitting  themselves  so  well,  was  lively  and  gay  too,  in  her 
quiet  way.  Even  Lord  Lowborough  caught  the  general 
contagion :  his  dark  greenish  eyes  were  lighted  up  beneath 
their  moody  brows ;  his  sombre  countenance  was  beautified 
by  smiles ;  all  traces  of  gloom  and  proud  or  cold  reserve 
had  vanished  for  the  time  ;  and  he  astonished  us  all,  not  only 
by  his  general  cheerfulness  and  animation,  but  by  the  positive 
flashes  of  true  force  and  brilliance  he  emitted  from  time  to 
time.  Arthur  did  not  talk  much,  but  he  laughed,  and 
listened  to  the  rest,  and  was  in  perfect  good-humour,  though 
not  excited  by  wine.  So  that,  altogether,  we  made  a  very 
merry,  innocent,  and  entertaining  party. 

9th. — Yesterday,  when  Eachel  came  to  dress  me  for 
dinner,  I  saw  that  she  had  been  crying.  I  wanted  to  know 
the  cause  of  it,  but  she  seemed  reluctant  to  tell.  Was  she 
unwell  ?  No.  Had  she  heard  bad  news  from  her  friends  ? 
No.  Had  any  of  the  servants  vexed  her  ? 

'  Oh,  no,  ma'am  ! '  she  answered ;  '  it's  not  for  myself.' 
1  What  then,  Eachel  ?     Have  you  been  reading  novels  ? ' 
'  Bless  you,  no  ! '  said  she,  with  a  sorrowful  shake  of  the 


300  THE   TENANT   OF 

head ;  and  then  she  sighed   and  continued :     '  But  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  ma'am,  I  don't  like  master's  ways  of  going  on.' 

'What  do  you  mean,  Eachel?  He's  going  on  very 
properly  at  present.' 

'  Well,  ma'am,  if  you  think  so,  it's  right.' 

And  she  went  on  dressing  my  hair,  in  a  hurried  way, 
quite  unlike  her  usual  calm,  collected  manner,  murmuring, 
half  to  herself,  she  was  sure  it  was  beautiful  hair :  she 
'  could  like  to  see  'em  match  it.'  When  it  was  done,  she 
fondly  stroked  it,  and  gently  patted  my  head. 

'  Is  that  affectionate  ebullition  intended  for  my  hair,  or 
myself,  nurse  ? '  said  I,  laughingly  turning  round  upon  her ; 
but  a  tear  was  even  now  in  her  eye. 

'  What  do  you  mean,  Eachel  ?  '  I  exclaimed. 

'  Well,  ma'am,  I  don't  know ;  but  if ' 

'  If  what  ? ' 

'Well,  if  I  was  you,  I  wouldn't  have  that  Lady 
Lowborough  in  the  house  another  minute — not  another 
minute  I  wouldn't ! ' 

I  was  thunderstruck ;  but  before  I  could  recover  from  the 
shock  sufficiently  to  demand  an  explanation,  Milicent  entered 
my  room,  as  she  frequently  does  when  she  is  dressed  before 
me ;  and  she  stayed  with  me  till  it  was  time  to  go  down. 
She  must  have  found  me  a  very  unsociable  companion  this 
time,  for  Eachel's  last  words  rang  in  my  ears.  But  still  I 
hoped,  I  trusted  they  had  no  foundation  but  in  some  idle 
rumour  of  the  servants  from  what  they  had  seen  in  Lady 
Lowborough's  manner  last  month;  or  perhaps  from  some- 
thing that  had  passed  between  their  master  and  her  during 
her  former  visit.  At  dinner  I  narrowly  observed  both  her 
and  Arthur,  and  saw  nothing  extraordinary  in  the  conduct 
of  either,  nothing  calculated  to  excite  suspicion,  except  in 
distrustful  minds,  which  mine  was  not,  and  therefore  I  would 
not  suspect. 

Almost  immediately  after  dinner  Annabella  went  out 
with  her  husband  to  share  his  moonlight  ramble,  for  it  was 
a  splendid  evening  like  the  last.  Mr.  Hargrave  entered  the 


WILDFELL   HALL  301 

drawing-room  a  little  before  the  others,  and  challenged  me  to 
a  game  of  chess.  He  did  it  without  any  of  that  sad  but 
proud  humility  he  usually  assumes  in  addressing  me,  unless 
he  is  excited  with  wine.  I  looked  at  his  face  to  see  if  that 
was  the  case  now.  His  eye  met  mine  keenly,  but  steadily  : 
there  was  something  about  him  I  did  not  understand,  but  he 
seemed  sober  enough.  Not  choosing  to  engage  with  him,  I 
referred  him  to  Milicent. 

'  She  plays  badly,'  said  he.  '  I  want  to  match  my  skill 
with  yours.  Come  now !  you  can't  pretend  you  are 
reluctant  to  lay  down  your  work.  I  know  you  never  take  it 
up  except  to  pass  an  idle  hour,  when  there  is  nothing  better 
you  can  do.' 

'  But  chess-players  are  so  unsociable,'  I  objected  ;  '  they 
are  no  company  for  any  but  themselves.' 

'  There  is  no  one  here  but  Milicent,  and  she ' 

'  Oh,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  watch  you  !  '  cried  our 
mutual  friend.  '  Two  such  players — it  will  be  quite  a  treat ! 
I  wonder  which  will  conquer.' 

I  consented. 

'  Now,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,'  said  Hargrave,  as  he  arranged 
the  men  on  the  board,  speaking  distinctly,  and  with  a 
peculiar  emphasis,  as  if  he  had  a  double  meaning  to  all  his 
words,  '  you  are  a  good  player,  but  I  am  a  better  :  we  shall 
have  a  long  game,  and  you  will  give  me  some  trouble  ;  but 
I  can  be  as  patient  as  you,  and  in  the  end  I  shall  certainly 
win.'  He  fixed  his  eyes  upon  me  with  a  glance  I  did 
not  like,  keen,  crafty,  bold,  and  almost  impudent ; — already 
half  triumphant  in  his  anticipated  success. 

'  I  hope  not,  Mr.  Hargrave ! '  returned  I,  with  vehemence 
that  must  have  startled  Milicent  at  least ;  but  he  only 
smiled  and  murmured,  '  Time  will  show.' 

We  set  to  work :  he  sufficiently  interested  in  the  game,  but 
calm  and  fearless  in  the  consciousness  of  superior  skill :  I, 
intensely  eager  to  disappoint  his  expectations,  for  I  con- 
sidered this  the  type  of  a  more  serious  contest,  as  I  imagined 
he  did,  and  I  felt  an  almost  superstitious  dread  of  being 


302  THE  TENANT  OF 

beaten :  at  all  events,  I  could  ill  endure  that  present  success 
should  add  one  tittle  to  his  conscious  power  (his  insolent 
self-confidence  I  ought  to  say),  or  encourage  for  a  moment 
his  dream  of  future  conquest.  His  play  was  cautious  and 
deep,  but  I  struggled  hard  against  him.  For  some  time  the 
combat  was  doubtful:  at  length,  to  my  joy,  the  victory 
seemed  inclining  to  my  side :  I  had  taken  several  of  his  best 
pieces,  and  manifestly  baffled  his  projects.  He  put  his  hand 
to  his  brow  and  paused,  in  evident  perplexity.  I  rejoiced  in 
my  advantage,  but  dared  not  glory  in  it  yet.  At  length,  he 
lifted  his  head,  and  quietly  making  his  move,  looked  at  me 
and  said,  calmly,  '  Now  you  think  you  will  win,  don't  you  ?  ' 

'I  hope  so,'  replied  I,  taking  his  pawn  that  he  had 
pushed  into  the  way  of  my  bishop  with  so  careless  an  air 
that  I  thought  it  was  an  oversight,  but  was  not  generous 
enough,  under  the  circumstances,  to  direct  his  attention  to  it, 
and  too  heedless,  at  the  moment,  to  foresee  the  after-con- 
sequences of  my  move. 

'  It  is  those  bishops  that  trouble  me,'  said  he ;  '  but  the 
bold  knight  can  overleap  the  reverend  gentlemen,'  taking  my 
last  bishop  with  his  knight ;  '  and  now,  those  sacred  persons 
once  removed,  I  shall  carry  all  before  me.' 

'  Oh,  Walter,  how  you  talk  ! '  cried  Milicent ;  '  she  has 
far  more  pieces  than  you  still.' 

'  I  intend  to  give  you  some  trouble  yet,'  said  I ;  '  and 
perhaps,  sir,  you  will  find  yourself  checkmated  before  you 
are  aware.  Look  to  your  queen.' 

The  combat  deepened.  The  game  was  a  long  one,  and  I 
did  give  him  some  trouble  :  but  he  was  a  better  player  than  I. 

'  What  keen  gamesters  you  are ! '  said  Mr.  Hattersley, 
who  had  now  entered,  and  been  watching  us  for  some  time. 
'  Why,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  your  hand  trembles  as  if  you  had 
staked  your  all  upon  it !  and,  Walter,  you  dog,  you  look  as 
deep  and  cool  as  if  you  were  certain  of  success,  and  as  keen 
and  cruel  as  if  you  would  drain  her  heart's  blood  !  But  if 
I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  beat  her,  for  very  fear :  she'll  hate 
you  if  you  do — she  will,  by  heaven  !  I  see  it  in  her  eye.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  303 

'  Hold  your  tongue,  will  you  ?  '  said  I :  his  talk  distracted 
me,  for  I  was  driven  to  extremities.  A  few  more  moves,  and 
I  was  inextricably  entangled  in  the  snare  of  my  antagonist. 

'  Check,'  cried  he :  I  sought  in  agony  some  means  of 
escape.  '  Mate  ! '  he  added,  quietly,  but  with  evident  delight. 
He  had  suspended  the  utterance  of  that  last  fatal  syllable 
the  better  to  enjoy  my  dismay.  I  was  foolishly  disconcerted 
by  the  event.  Hattersley  laughed ;  Milicent  was  troubled 
to  see  me  so  disturbed.  Hargrave  placed  his  hand  on  mine 
that  rested  on  the  table,  and  squeezing  it  with  a  firm  but 
gentle  pressure,  murmured,  '  Beaten,  beaten ! '  and  gazed 
into  my  face  with  a  look  where  exultation  was  blended  with 
an  expression  of  ardour  and  tenderness  yet  more  insulting. 

'  No,  never,  Mr.  Hargrave  ! '  exclaimed  I,  quickly  with- 
drawing my  hand. 

'  Do  you  deny?'  replied  he,  smilingly  pointing  to  the  board. 

'No,  no,'  I  answered,  recollecting  how  strange  my 
conduct  must  appear :  '  you  have  beaten  me  in  that  game.' 

'  Will  you  try  another,  then  ? ' 

'No.' 

'  You  acknowledge  my  superiority  ? ' 

'Yes,  as  a  chess-player.' 

I  rose  to  resume  my  work. 

'  Where  is  Annabella  ? '  said  Hargrave,  gravely,  after 
glancing  round  the  room. 

'  Gone  out  with  Lord  Lowborough,'  answered  I,  for  he 
looked  at  me  for  a  reply. 

'  And  not  yet  returned ! '  he  said,  seriously. 

'  I  suppose  not.' 

'  Where  is  Huntingdon  ?  '  looking  round  again. 

'  Gone  out  with  Grimsby,  as  you  know,'  said  Hattersley,, 
suppressing  a  laugh,  which  broke  forth  as  he  concluded  the 
sentence.  Why  did  he  laugh  ?  Why  did  Hargrave  connect 
them  thus  together  ?  Was  it  true,  then  ?  And  was  this  the 
dreadful  secret  he  had  wished  to  reveal  to  me?  I  must 
know,  and  that  quickly.  I  instantly  rose  and  left  the  room 
to  go  in  search  of  Rachel  and  demand  an  explanation  of 


304  THE   TENANT  OF 

her  words ;  but  Mr.  Hargrave  followed  me  into  the  ante- 
room, and  before  I  could  open  its  outer  door,  gently  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  lock.  '  May  I  tell  you  something,  Mrs. 
Huntingdon?'  said  he,  in  a  subdued  tone,  with  serious, 
downcast  eyes. 

'If  it  be  anything  worth  hearing,'  replied  I,  struggling 
to  be  composed,  for  I  trembled  in  every  limb. 

He  quietly  pushed  a  chair  towards  me.  I  merely  leant 
my  hand  upon  it,  and  bid  him  go  on. 

'  Do  not  be  alarmed,'  said  he :  '  what  I  wish  to  say  is 
nothing  in  itself ;  and  I  will  leave  you  to  draw  your  own 
inferences  from  it.  You  say  that  Annabella  is  not  yet 
returned  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  yes — go  on  ! '  said  I,  impatiently  ;  for  I  feared  my 
forced  calmness  would  leave  me  before  the  end  of  his 
disclosure,  whatever  it  might  be. 

'  And  you  hear,'  continued  he,  '  that  Huntingdon  is  gone 
out  with  Grimsby  ? ' 

'Well?' 

'  I  heard  the  latter  say  to  your  husband — or  the  man 
who  calls  himself  so ' 

'  Go  on,  sir  ! ' 

He  bowed  submissively,  and  continued :  '  I  heard  him 
say, — "  I  shall  manage  it,  you'll  see  !  They're  gone  down  by 
the  water ;  I  shall  meet  them  there,  and  tell  him  I  want  a 
bit  of  talk  with  him  about  some  things  that  we  needn't 
trouble  the  lady  with ;  and  she'll  say  she  can  be  walking 
back  to  the  house ;  and  then  I  shall  apologise,  you  know, 
and  all  that,  and  tip  her  a  wink  to  take  the  way  of  the 
shrubbery.  I'll  keep  him  talking  there,  about  those  matters 
I  mentioned,  and  anything  else  I  can  think  of,  as  long  as  I 
can,  and  then  bring  him  round  the  other  way,  stopping  to 
look  at  the  trees,  the  fields,  and  anything  else  I  can  find  to 
discourse  of."  '  Mr.  Hargrave  paused,  and  looked  at  me. 

Without  a  word  of  comment  or  further  questioning,  I 
rose,  and  darted  from  the  room  and  out  of  the  house.  The 
torment  of  suspense  was  not  to  be  endured :  I  would  not 


WILDFELL  HALL  305 

suspect  my  husband  falsely,  on  this  man's  accusation,  and  I 
would  not  trust  him  unworthily — I  must  know  the  truth  at 
once.  I  flew  to  the  shrubbery.  Scarcely  had  I  reached  it, 
when  a  sound  of  voices  arrested  my  breathless  speed. 

'  We  have  lingered  too  long  ;  he  will  be  back,'  said  Lady 
Lowborough's  voice. 

'  Surely  not,  dearest !  '  was  his  reply  ;  '  but  you  can  run 
across  the  lawn,  and  get  in  as  quietly  as  you  can :  I'll 
follow  in  a  while.' 

My  knees  trembled  under  me ;  my  brain  swam  round. 
I  was  ready  to  faint.  She  must  not  see  me  thus.  I  shrunk 
among  the  bushes,  and  leant  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree  to 
let  her  pass. 

'  Ah,  Huntingdon ! '  said  she  reproachfully,  pausing 
where  I  had  stood  with  him  the  night  before — '  it  was  here 
you  kissed  that  woman !  '  she  looked  back  into  the  leafy 
shade.  Advancing  thence,  he  answered,  with  a  careless 
laugh, — 

'  Well,  dearest,  I  couldn't  help  it.  You  know  I  must 
keep  straight  with  her  as  long  as  I  can.  Haven't  I  seen 
you  kiss  your  dolt  of  a  husband  scores  of  times  ? — and  do  I 
ever  complain  ? ' 

'  But  tell  me,  don't  you  love  her  still — a  little  ? '  said  she, 
placing  her  hand  on  his  arm,  looking  earnestly  in  his  face — 
for  I  could  see  them  plainly,  the  moon  shining  full  upon 
them  from  between  the  branches  of  the  tree  that  sheltered  me. 

'  Not  one  bit,  by  all  that's  sacred  !  '  he  replied,  kissing  her 
glowing  cheek. 

'  Good  heavens,  I  must  be  gone ! '  cried  she,  suddenly 
breaking  from  him,  and  away  she  flew. 

There  he  stood  before  me ;  but  I  had  not  strength  to 
confront  him  now :  my  tongue  cleaved  to  the  roof  of  my 
mouth ;  I  was  well-nigh  sinking  to  the  earth,  and  I  almost 
wondered  he  did  not  hear  the  beating  of  my  heart  above  the 
low  sighing  of  the  wind  and  the  fitful  rustle  of  the  falling 
leaves.  My  senses  seemed  to  fail  me,  but  still  I  saw  his 
shadowy  form  pass  before  me,  and  through  the  rushing  sound 


306  THE   TENANT  OF 

in  my  ears  I  distinctly  heard  him  say,  as  he  stood  looking  up 
the  lawn, — '  There  goes  the  fool !  Eun,  Annabella,  run  ! 
There — in  with  you !  Ah,  he  didn't  see !  That's  right, 
Grimsby,  keep  him  back ! '  And  even  his  low  laugh  reached 
me  as  he  walked  away. 

'  God  help  me  now ! '  I  murmured,  sinking  on  my  knees 
among  the  damp  weeds  and  brushwood  that  surrounded  me, 
and  looking  up  at  the  moonlit  sky,  through  the  scant  foliage 
above.  It  seemed  all  dim  and  quivering  now  to  my  darkened 
sight.  My  burning,  bursting  heart  strove  to  pour  forth  its 
agony  to  God,  but  could  not  frame  its  anguish  into  prayer ; 
until  a  gust  of  wind  swept  over  me,  which,  while  it  scattered 
the  dead  leaves,  like  blighted  hopes,  around,  cooled  my  fore- 
head, and  seemed  a  little  to  revive  my  sinking  frame.  Then, 
while  I  lifted  up  my  soul  hi  speechless,  earnest  supplication, 
some  heavenly  influence  seemed  to  strengthen  me  within  :  I 
breathed  more  freely;  my  vision  cleared;  I  saw  distinctly 
the  pure  moon  shining  on,  and  the  light  clouds  skimming  the 
clear,  dark  sky ;  and  then  I  saw  the  eternal  stars  twinkling 
down  upon  me ;  I  knew  their  God  was  mine,  and  He  was 
strong  to  save  and  swift  to  hear.  '  I  will  never  leave  thee, 
nor  forsake  thee,'  seemed  whispered  from  above  their  myriad 
orbs.  No,  no ;  I  felt  He  would  not  leave  me  comfortless : 
in  spite  of  earth  and  hell  I  should  have  strength  for  all  my 
trials,  and  win  a  glorious  rest  at  last ! 

Refreshed,  invigorated,  if  not  composed,  I  rose  and 
returned  to  the  house.  Much  of  my  new-born  strength  and 
courage  forsook  me,  I  confess,  as  I  entered  it,  and  shut,  out 
the  fresh  wind  and  the  glorious  sky :  everything  I  saw  and 
heard  seemed  to  sicken  my  heart — the  hall,  the  lamp,  the 
staircase,  the  doors  of  the  different  apartments,  the  social 
sound  of  talk  and  laughter  from  the  drawing-room.  How 
could  I  bear  my  future  life  !  In  this  house,  among  those 
people — oh,  how  could  I  endure  to  live !  John  just  then 
entered  the  hall,  and  seeing  me,  told  me  he  had  been  sent  in 
search  of  me,  adding  that  he  had  taken  in  the  tea,  and  master 
wished  to  know  if  I  were  coming. 


WILDFELL  HALL  307 

'  Ask  Mrs.  Hattersley  to  be  so  kind  as  to  make  the  tea, 
John,'  said  I.  '  Say  I  am  not  well  to-night,  and  wish  to  be 
excused." 

I  retired  into  the  large,  empty  dining-room,  where  all  was 
silence  and  darkness,  but  for  the  soft  sighing  of  the  wind 
without,  and  the  faint  gleam  of  moonlight  that  pierced  the 
blinds  and  curtains ;  and  there  I  walked  rapidly  up  and  down, 
thinking  of  my  bitter  thoughts  alone.  How  different  was  this 
from  the  evening  of  yesterday !  That,  it  seems,  was  the  last 
expiring  flash  of  my  life's  happiness.  Poor,  blinded  fool  that 
I  was,  to  be  so  happy !  I  could  now  see  the  reason  of  Arthur's 
strange  reception  of  me  in  the  shrubbery  ;  the  burst  of  kind- 
ness was  for  his  paramour,  the  start  of  horror  for  his  wife. 
Now,  too,  I  could  better  understand  the  conversation  between 
Hattersley  and  Grimsby ;  it  was  doubtless  of  his  love  for  her 
they  spoke,  not  for  me. 

I  heard  the  drawing-room  door  open  :  a  light  quick  step 
came  out  of  the  ante-room,  crossed  the  hall,  and  ascended 
the  stairs.  It  was  Milicent,  poor  Milicent,  gone  to  see  how  I 
was — no  one  else  cared  for  me ;  but  she  still  was  kind.  I 
shed  no  tears  before,  but  now  they  came,  fast  and  free.  Thus 
she  did  me  good,  without  approaching  me.  Disappointed  in 
her  search,  I  heard  her  come  down,  more  slowly  than  she  had 
ascended.  Would  she  come  in  there,  and  find  me  out  ?  No, 
she  turned  in  the  opposite  direction  and  re-entered  the 
drawing-room.  I  was  glad,  for  I  knew  not  how  to  meet  her, 
or  what  to  say.  I  wanted  no  confidante  in  my  distress.  I 
deserved  none,  and  I  wanted  none.  I  had  taken  the  burden 
upon  myself ;  let  me  bear  it  alone.  • 

As  the  usual  hour  of  retirement  approached  I  dried  my 
eyes,  and  tried  to  clear  my  voice  and  calm  my  mind.  I 
must  see  Arthur  to-night,  and  speak  to  him  ;  but  I  would  do 
it  calmly :  there  should  be  no  scene — nothing  to  complain 
or  to  boast  of  to  his  companions — nothing  to  laugh  at  with 
his  lady-love.  When  the  company  were  retiring  to  their 
chambers  I  gently  opened  the  door,  and  just  as  he  passed, 
beckoned  him  in. 


308  THE  TENANT   OF 

'  What's  to  do  with  you,  Helen  ? '  said  he.  '  Why 
couldn't  you  come  to  make  tea  for  us  ?  and  what  the  deuce 
are  you  here  for,  in  the  dark  ?  What  ails  you,  young 
woman  :  you  look  like  a  ghost !  '  he  continued,  surveying  me 
by  the  light  of  his  candle. 

'  No  matter,'  I  answered,  '  to  you ;  you  have  no  longer  any 
regard  for  me  it  appears ;  and  I  have  no  longer  any  for  you.' 

'  Hal-lo !  what  the  devil  is  this  ? '  he  muttered. 

'  I  would  leave  you  to-morrow,'  continued  I,  '  and  never 
again  come  under  this  roof,  but  for  my  child ' — I  paused  a 
moment  to  steady  my  voice. 

'  What  in  the  devil's  name  is  this,  Helen  ? '  cried  he. 
'  What  can  you  be  driving  at  ?  ' 

1  You  know  perfectly  well.  Let  us  waste  no  time  in  use- 
less explanation,  but  tell  me,  will  you ? ' 

He  vehemently  swore  he  knew  nothing  about  it,  and 
insisted  upon  hearing  what  poisonous  old  woman  had  been 
blackening  his  name,  and  what  infamous  lies  I  had  been 
fool  enough  to  believe. 

'  Spare  yourself  the  trouble  of  forswearing  yourself  and 
racking  your  brains  to  stifle  truth  with  falsehood,'  I  coldly 
replied.  '  I  have  trusted  to  the  testimony  of  no  third  person. 
I  was  in  the  shrubbery  this  evening,  and  I  saw  and  heard 
for  myself.' 

This  was  enough.  He  uttered  a  suppressed  exclamation 
of  consternation  and  dismay,  and  muttering,  '  I  shall  catch 
it  now  1 '  set  down  his  candle  on  the  nearest  chair,  and 
rearing  his  back  against  the  wall,  stood  confronting  me  with 
folded  arms. 

'  Well,  what  then  ?  '  said  he,  with  the  calm  insolence  of 
mingled  shamelessness  and  desperation. 

1  Only  this,'  returned  I ;  '  will  you  let  me  take  our  child 
and  what  remains  of  my  fortune,  and  go  ?  ' 

'  Go  where  ?  ' 

1  Anywhere,  where  he  will  be  safe  from  your  contaminat- 
ing influence,  and  I  shall  be  delivered  from  your  presence, 
and  you  from  mine.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  309 

No.' 

'  Will  you  let  me  have  the  child  then,  without  the 
money  ? ' 

'  No,  nor  yourself  without  the  child.  Do  you  think  I'm 
going  to  be  made  the  talk  of  the  country  for  your  fastidious 
caprices  ?  ' 

'  Then  I  must  stay  here,  to  be  hated  and  despised.  But 
henceforth  we  are  husband  and  wife  only  in  the  name." 

'  Very  good.' 

I  am  your  child's  mother,  and  your  housekeeper,  nothing 
more.  So  you  need  not  trouble  yourself  any  longer  to  feign 
the  love  you  cannot  feel :  I  will  exact  no  more  heartless 
caresses  from  you,  nor  offer  nor  endure  them  either.  I  will 
not  be  mocked  with  the  empty  husk  of  conjugal  endearments, 
when  you  have  given  the  substance  to  another  !  ' 

'  Very  good,  if  you  please.  We  shall  see  who  will  tire 
first,  my  lady.' 

'  If  I  tire,  it  will  be  of  living  in  the  world  with  you  :  not 
of  living  without  your  mockery  of  love.  When  you  tire  of 
your  sinful  ways,  and  show  yourself  truly  repentant,  I  will 
forgive  you,  and,  perhaps,  try  to  love  you  again,  though  that 
will  be  hard  indeed.' 

1  Humph  !  and  meantime  you  will  go  and  talk  me  over  to 
Mrs.  Hargrave,  and  write  long  letters  to  aunt  Maxwell  to 
complain  of  the  wicked  wretch  you  have  married  ?  ' 

'  I  shall  complain  to  no  one.  Hitherto  I  have  struggled 
hard  to  hide  your  vices  from  every  eye,  and  invest  you  with 
virtues  you  never  possessed ;  but  now  you  must  look  to 
yourself.' 

I  left  him  muttering  bad  language  to  himself,  and  went 
up-stairs. 

'  You  are  poorly,  ma'am,'  said  Eachel,  surveying  me  with 
deep  anxiety. 

'  It  is  too  true,  Eachel,'  said  I,  answering  her  sad  looks 
rather  than  her  words. 

'  I  knew  it,  or  I  wouldn't  have  mentioned  such  a  thing.' 

1  But  don't  you  trouble  yourself  about  it,'  said  I,  kissing 


310  THE   TENANT   OF 

her  pale,  time -wasted  cheek.  '  I  can  bear  it  better  than  you 
imagine.' 

'  Yes,  you  were  always  for  "  bearing."  But  if  I  was  you 
I  wouldn't  bear  it ;  I'd  give  way  to  it,  and  cry  right  hard  ! 
and  I'd  talk  too,  I  just  would — I'd  let  him  know  what  it  was 
to — 

'  I  have  talked,'  said  I ;  '  I've  said  enough.' 

'  Then  I'd  cry,'  persisted  she.  '  I  wouldn't  look  so  white 
and  so  calm,  and  burst  my  heart  with  keeping  it  in.' 

'  I  have  cried,'  said  I,  smiling,  in  spite  of  my  misery ; 
'  and  I  am  calm  now,  really :  so  don't  discompose  me  again, 
nurse  :  let  us  say  no  more  about  it,  and  don't  mention  it  to 
the  servants.  There,  you  may  go  now.  Good-night;  and 
don't  disturb  your  rest  for  me  :  I  shall  sleep  well — if  I  can.' 

Notwithstanding  this  resolution,  I  found  my  bed  so 
intolerable  that,  before  two  o'clock,  I  rose,  and  lighting  my 
candle  by  the  rushlight  that  was  still  burning,  I  got  my  desk 
and  sat  down  in  my  dressing-gown  to  recount  the  events  of 
the  past  evening.  It  was  better  to  be  so  occupied  than  to  be 
lying  in  bed  torturing  my  brain  with  recollections  of  the  far 
past  and  anticipations  of  the  dreadful  future.  I  have  found 
relief  in  describing  the  very  circumstances  that  have 
destroyed  my  peace,  as  well  as  the  little  trivial  details 
attendant  upon  their  discovery.  No  sleep  I  could  have  got 
this  night  would  have  done  so  much  towards  composing  my 
mind,  and  preparing  me  to  meet  the  trials  of  the  day.  I 
fancy  so,  at  least ;  and  yet,  when  I  cease  writing,  I  find  my 
head  aches  terribly ;  and  when  I  look  into  the  glass,  I  am 
startled  at  my  haggard,  worn  appearance. 

Eachel  has  been  to  dress  me,  and  says  I  have  had  a  sad 
night  of  it,  she  can  see.  Milicent  has  just  looked  in  to  ask 
me  how  I  was.  I  told  her  I  was  better,  but  to  excuse  my 
appearance  admitted  I  had  had  a  restless  night.  I  wish  this 
day  were  over !  I  shudder  at  the  thoughts  of  going  down  to 
breakfast.  How  shall  I  encounter  them  all?  Yet  let  me 
remember  it  is  not  I  that  am  guilty  :  I  have  no  cause  to  fear ; 
and  if  they  scorn  me  as  a  victim  of  their  guilt,  I  can  pity 
their  folly  and  despise  their  scorn. 


CHAPTEE  XXXIV 

EVENING. — Breakfast  passed  well  over :  I  was  calm  and  cool 
throughout.  I  answered  composedly  all  inquiries  respecting 
my  health ;  and  whatever  was  unusual  in  my  look  or  manner 
was  generally  attributed  to  the  trifling  indisposition  that  had 
occasioned  my  early  retirement  last  night.  But  how  am  I 
to  get  over  the  ten  or  twelve  days  that  must  yet  elapse  before 
they  go  ?  Yet  why  so  long  for  their  departure  ?  When  they 
are  gone,  how  shall  I  get  through  the  months  or  years  of  my 
future  life  in  company  with  that  man — my  greatest  enemy  ? 
for  none  could  injure  me  as  he  has  done.  Oh  !  when  I  think 
how  fondly,  how  foolishly  I  have  loved  him,  how  madly  I 
have  trusted  him,  how  constantly  I  have  laboured,  and 
studied,  and  prayed,  and  struggled  for  his  advantage ;  and 
how  cruelly  he  has  trampled  on  my  love,  betrayed  my  trust, 
scorned  my  prayers  and  tears,  and  efforts  for  his  preservation, 
crushed  my  hopes,  destroyed  my  youth's  best  feelings,  and 
doomed  me  to  a  life  of  hopeless  misery,  as  far  as  man  can  do 
it,  it  is  not  enough  to  say  that  I  no  longer  love  my  husband 
— I  HATE  him !  The  word  stares  me  in  the  face  like  a 
guilty  confession,  but  it  is  true :  I  hate  him — I  hate  him ! 
But  God  have  mercy  on  his  miserable  soul !  and  make  him 
see  and  feel  his  guilt — I  ask  no  other  vengeance  !  If  he  could 
but  fully  know  and  truly  feel  my  wrongs  I  should  be  well 
avenged,  and  I  could  freely  pardon  all ;  but  he  is  so  lost,  so 
hardened  in  his  heartless  depravity,  that  in  this  life  I  believe 
he  never  will.  But  it  is  useless  dwelling  on  this  theme  :  let 
me  seek  once  more  to  dissipate  reflection  in  the  minor  details 
of  passing  events. 


312  THE  TENANT   OF 

Mr.  Hargrave  has  annoyed  me  all  day  long  with  his 
serious,  sympathising,  and  (as  he  thinks)  unobtrusive  polite- 
ness. If  it  were  more  obtrusive  it  would  trouble  me  less,  for 
then  I  could  snub  him ;  but,  as  it  is,  he  contrives  to  appear 
so  really  kind  and  thoughtful  that  I  cannot  do  so  without 
rudeness  and  seeming  ingratitude.  I  sometimes  think  I  ought 
to  give  him  credit  for  the  good  feeling  he  simulates  so  well ; 
and  then  again,  I  think  it  is  my  duty  to  suspect  him  under 
the  peculiar  circumstances  in  which  I  am  placed.  His  kind- 
ness may  not  all  be  feigned  ;  but  still,  let  not  the  purest 
impulse  of  gratitude  to  him  induce  me  to  forget  myself :  let 
me  remember  the  game  of  chess,  the  expressions  he  used  on 
the  occasion,  and  those  indescribable  looks  of  his,  that  so 
justly  roused  my  indignation,  and  I  think  I  shall  be  safe 
enough.  I  have  done  well  to  record  them  so  minutely. 

I  think  he  wishes  to  find  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  me 
alone  :  he  has  seemed  to  be  on  the  watch  all  day ;  but  I  have 
taken  care  to  disappoint  him — not  that  I  fear  anything  he 
could  say,  but  I  have  trouble  enough  without  the  addition  of 
his  insulting  consolations,  condolences,  or  whatever  else  he 
might  attempt  ;  and,  for  Milicent's  sake,  I  do  not  wish  to 
quarrel  with  him.  He  excused  himself  from  going  out  to  shoot 
with  the  other  gentlemen  in  the  morning,  under  the  pretext 
of  having  letters  to  write ;  and  instead  of  retiring  for  that 
purpose  into  the  library,  he  sent  for  his  desk  into  the 
morning-room,  where  I  was  seated  with  Milicent  and  Lady 
Lowborough.  They  had  betaken  themselves  to  their  work  ; 
I,  less  to  divert  my  mind  than  to  deprecate  conversation,  had 
provided  myself  with  a  book.  Milicent  saw  that  I  wished  to 
be  quiet,  and  accordingly  let  me  alone.  Annabella,  doubtless, 
saw  it  too  :  but  that  was  no  reason  why  she  should  restrain 
her  tongue,  or  curb  her  cheerful  spirits  :  she  accordingly 
chatted  away,  addressing  herself  almost  exclusively  to  me, 
and  with  the  utmost  assurance  and  familiarity,  growing  the 
more  animated  and  friendly  the  colder  and  briefer  my 
answers  became.  Mr.  Hargrave  saw  that  I  could  ill  endure 
it,  and,  looking  up  from  his  desk,  he  answered  her  questions 


WILDFELL  HALL  313 

and  observations  for  me,  as  far  as  he  could,  and  attempted  to 
transfer  her  social  attentions  from  me  to  himself;  but  it 
would  not  do.  Perhaps  she  thought  I  had  a  headache,  and 
could  not  bear  to  talk  ;  at  any  rate,  she  saw  that  her  loqua- 
cious vivacity  annoyed  me,  as  I  could  tell  by  the  malicious 
pertinacity  with  which  she  persisted.  But  I  checked  it 
effectually  by  putting  into  her  hand  the  book  I  had  been 
trying  to  read,  on  the  fly-leaf  of  which  I  had  hastily 
scribbled, — 

'  I  am  too  well  acquainted  with  your  character  and  con- 
duct to  feel  any  real  friendship  for  you,  and  as  I  am  without 
your  talent  for  dissimulation,  I  cannot  assume  the  appearance 
of  it.  I  must,  therefore,  beg  that  hereafter  all  familiar  inter- 
course may  cease  between  us ;  and  if  I  still  continue  to  treat 
you  with  civility,  as  if  you  were  a  woman  worthy  of  consider- 
ation and  respect,  understand  that  it  is  out  of  regard  for  your 
cousin  Milicent's  feelings,  not  for  yours.' 

Upon  perusing  this  she  turned  scarlet,  and  bit  her  lip. 
Covertly  tearing  away  the  leaf,  she  crumpled  it  up  and  put  it 
in  the  fire,  and  then  employed  herself  in  turning  over  the 
pages  of  the  book,  and,  really  or  apparently,  perusing  its 
contents.  In  a  little  while  Milicent  announced  it  her  inten- 
tion to  repair  to  the  nursery,  and  asked  if  I  would  accompany 
her. 

'  Annabella  will  excuse  us,'  said  she ;  '  she's  busy  reading.' 

'  No,  I  won't,'  cried  Annabella,  suddenly  looking  up,  and 
throwing  her  book  on  the  table ;  '  I  want  to  speak  to  Helen 
a  minute.  You  may  go,  Milicent,  and  she'll  follow  in  a  while.' 
(Milicent  went.)  '  Will  you  oblige  me,  Helen  ? '  continued  she. 

Her  impudence  astounded  me ;  but  I  complied,  and 
followed  her  into  the  library.  She  closed  the  door,  and 
walked  up  to  the  fire. 

'  Who  told  you  this  ? '  said  she. 

'  No  one  :  I  am  not  incapable  of  seeing  for  myself.' 

'  Ah,  you  are  suspicious  !  '  cried  she,  smiling,  with  a 
gleam  of  hope.  Hitherto  there  had  been  a  kind  of  despera- 
tion in  her  hardihood  ;  now  she  was  evidently  relieved. 


314  THE   TENANT  OF 

'  If  I  were  suspicious,'  I  replied, '  I  should  have  discovered 
your  infamy  long  before.  No,  Lady  Lowborough,  I  do  not 
found  my  charge  upon  suspicion/ 

'  On  what  do  you  found  it,  then  ? '  said  she,  throwing 
herself  into  an  arm-chair,  and  stretching  out  her  feet  to  the 
fender,  with  an  obvious  effort  to  appear  composed. 

'  I  enjoy  a  moonlight  ramble  as  well  as  you,'  I  answered, 
steadily  fixing  my  eyes  upon  her;  'and  the  shrubbery 
happens  to  be  one  of  my  favourite  resorts.' 

She  coloured  again  excessively,  and  remained  silent, 
pressing  her  finger  against  her  teeth,  and  gazing  into  the  fire. 
I  watched  her  a  few  moments  with  a  feeling  of  malevolent 
gratification  ;  then,  moving  towards  the  door,  I  calmly  asked 
if  she  had  anything  more  to  say. 

'  Yes,  yes ! '  cried  she  eagerly,  starting  up  from  her 
reclining  posture.  'I  want  to  know  if  you  will  tell  Lord 
Lowborough  ? ' 

'  Suppose  I  do  ? ' 

'  Well,  if  you  are  disposed  to  publish  the  matter,  I  cannot 
^dissuade  you,  of  course — but  there  will  be  terrible  work  if 
you  do — and  if  you  don't,  I  shall  think  you  the  most 
generous  of  mortal  beings — and  if  there  is  anything  in  the 

world  I  can  do  for  you — anything  short  of '  she 

hesitated. 

'  Short  of  renouncing  your  guilty  connection  with  my 
husband,  I  suppose  you  mean  ?  '  said  I. 

She  paused,  in  evident  disconcertion  and  perplexity, 
mingled  with  anger  she  dared  not  show. 

'  I  cannot  renounce  what  is  dearer  than  life,'  she 
muttered,  in  a  low,  hurried  tone.  Then,  suddenly  raising 
her  head  and  fixing  her  gleaming  eyes  upon  me,  she 
continued  earnestly :  '  But,  Helen — or  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  or 
whatever  you  would  have  me  call  you — will  you  tell  him  ? 
If  you  are  generous,  here  is  a  fitting  opportunity  for  the 
exercise  of  your  magnanimity  :  if  you  are  proud,  here  am  I 
— your  rival — ready  to  acknowledge  myself  your  debtor  for 
an  act  of  the  most  noble  forbearance.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  315 

1 1  shall  not  tell  him.' 

'  You  will  not !  '  cried  she,  delightedly.  '  Accept  my 
sincere  thanks,  then  ! ' 

She  sprang  up,  and  offered  me  her  hand.     I  drew  back. 

'  Give  me  no  thanks ;  it  is  not  for  your  sake  that  I  refrain. 
Neither  is  it  an  act  of  any  forbearance :  I  have  no  wish  to 
publish  your  shame.  I  should  be  sorry  to  distress  your 
husband  with  the  knowledge  of  it.' 

'  And  Milicent  ?  will  you  tell  her  ? ' 

'  No :  on  the  contrary,  I  shall  do  my  utmost  to  conceal  it 
from  her.  I  would  not  for  much  that  she  should  know  the 
infamy  and  disgrace  of  her  relation  ! ' 

'  You  use  hard  words,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  but  I  can  pardon 
you." 

'  And  now,  Lady  Lowborough,'  continued  I,  '  let  me 
counsel  you  to  leave  this  house  as  soon  as  possible.  You 
must  be  aware  that  your  continuance  here  is  excessively  dis- 
agreeable to  me — not  for  Mr.  Huntingdon's  sake,'  said  I, 
observing  the  dawn  of  a  malicious  smile  of  triumph  on  her 
face — '  you  are  welcome  to  him,  if  you  like  him,  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned — but  because  it  is  painful  to  be  always 
disguising  my  true  sentiments  respecting  you,  and  straining 
to  keep  up  an  appearance  of  civility  and  respect  towards  one 
for  whom  I  have  not  the  most  distant  shadow  of  esteem ; 
and  because,  if  you  stay,  your  conduct  cannot  possibly 
remain  concealed  much  longer  from  the  only  two  persons  in 
the  house  who  do  not  know  it  already.  And,  for  your 
husband's  sake,  Annabella,  and  even  for  your  own,  I  wish — 
I  earnestly  advise  and  entreat  you  to  break  off  this  unlawful 
connection  at  once,  and  return  to  your  duty  while  you  may, 
before  the  dreadful  consequences ' 

1  Yes,  yes,  of  course,'  said  she,  interrupting  me  with  a 
gesture  of  impatience.  '  But  I  cannot  go,  Helen,  before  the 
time  appointed  for  our  departure.  What  possible  pretext 
could  I  frame  for  such  a  thing  ?  Whether  I  proposed  going 
back  alone — which  Lowborough  would  not  hear  of — or  taking 
him  with  me,  the  very  circumstance  itself  would  be  certain 


316  THE  TENANT  OF 

to  excite  suspicion — and  when  our  visit  is  so  nearly  at  an  end 
too — little  more  than  a  week — surely  you  can  endure  my 
presence  so  long  !  I  will  not  annoy  you  with  any  more  of 
my  friendly  impertinences.' 

'  Well,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  you.' 

'  Have  you  mentioned  this  affair  to  Huntingdon  ?  '  asked 
she,  as  I  was  leaving  the  room. 

'  How  dare  you  mention  his  name  to  me  !  '  was  the  only 
answer  I  gave. 

No  words  have  passed  between  us  since,  but  such  as  out- 
ward decency  or  pure  necessity  demanded. 


CHAPTEE  XXXV 

NINETEENTH.— In  proportion  as  Lady  Lowborough  finds  she 
has  nothing  to  fear  from  me,  and  as  the  time  of  departure 
draws  nigh,  the  more  audacious  and  insolent  she  becomes. 
She  does  not  scruple  to  speak  to  my  husband  with 
affectionate  familiarity  in  my  presence,  when  no  one  else  is 
by,  and  is  particularly  fond  of  displaying  her  interest  in  his 
health  and  welfare,  or  in  anything  that  concerns  him,  as  if 
for  the  purpose  of  contrasting  her  kind  solicitude  with  my 
cold  indifference.  And  he  rewards  her  by  such  smiles  and 
glances,  such  whispered  words,  or  boldly-spoken  insinuations, 
indicative  of  his  sense  of  her  goodness  and  my  neglect,  as 
make  the  blood  rush  into  my  face,  in  spite  of  myself — for  I 
would  be  utterly  regardless  of  it  all — deaf  and  blind  to  every- 
thing that  passes  between  them,  since  the  more  I  show 
myself  sensible  of  their  wickedness  the  more  she  triumphs  in 
her  victory,  and  the  more  he  flatters  himself  that  I  love  him 
devotedly  still,  in  spite  of  my  pretended  indifference.  On 
such  occasions  I  have  sometimes  been  startled  by  a  subtle, 
fiendish  suggestion  inciting  me  to  show  him  the  contrary  by 
a  seeming  encouragement  of  Hargrave's  advances ;  but  such 
ideas  are  banished  in  a  moment  with  horror  and  self-abase- 
ment ;  and  then  I  hate  him  tenfold  more  than  ever  for 
having  brought  me  to  this  ! — God  pardon  me  for  it  and  all 
my  sinful  thoughts  !  Instead  of  being  humbled  and  purified 
by  my  afflictions,  I  feel  that  they  are  turning  my  nature  into 
gall.  This  must  be  my  fault  as  much  as  theirs  that  wrong 
me.  No  true  Christian  could  cherish  such  bitter  feelings  as 
I  do  against  him  and  her,  especially  the  latter :  him,  I  still 


318  THE  TENANT  OF 

feel  that  I  could  pardon — freely,  gladly — on  the  slightest 
token  of  repentance;  but  she — words  cannot  utter  my 
abhorrence.  Reason  forbids,  but  passion  urges  strongly; 
and  I  must  pray  and  struggle  long  ere  I  subdue  it. 

It  is  well  that  she  is  leaving  to-morrow,  for  I  could  not 
well  endure  her  presence  for  another  day.  This  morning 
she  rose  earlier  than  usual.  I  found  her  in  the  room  alone, 
when  I  went  down  to  breakfast. 

'  Oh,  Helen  !  is  it  you  ?  '  said  she,  turning  as  I  entered. 
I  gave  an  involuntary  start  back  on  seeing  her,  at  which 
she  uttered  a  short  laugh,  observing,  '  I  think  we  are  both 
disappointed.' 

I  came  forward  and  busied  myself  with  the  breakfast 
things. 

'  This  is  the  last  day  I  shall  burden  your  hospitality,'  said 
she,  as  she  seated  herself  at  the  table.  '  Ah,  here  comes  one 
that  will  not  rejoice  at  it ! '  she  murmured,  half  to  herself,  as 
Arthur  entered  the  room. 

He  shook  hands  with  her  and  wished  her  good-morning : 
then,  looking  lovingly  in  her  face,  and  still  retaining  her  hand 
in  his,  murmured  pathetically,  '  The  last — last  day ! ' 

'  Yes,'  said  she  with  some  asperity  ;  '  and  I  rose  early  to 
make  the  best  of  it — I  have  been  here  alone  this  half-hour, 

and  you — you  lazy  creature ' 

'  Well,  I  thought  I  was  early  too,'  said  he ;  '  but,'  dropping 
his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper,  '  you  see  we  are  not  alone.' 

'  We  never  are,'  returned  she.  But  they  were  almost  as 
good  as  alone,  for  I  was  now  standing  at  the  window, 
watching  the  clouds,  and  struggling  to  suppress  my  wrath. 

Some  more  words  passed  between  them,  which,  happily, 
I  did  not  overhear ;  but  Annabella  had  the  audacity  to  come 
and  place  herself  beside  me,  and  even  to  put  her  hand  upon 
my  shoulder  and  say  softly,  '  You  need  not  grudge  him  to  me, 
Helen,  for  I  love  him  more  than  ever  you  could  do.' 

This  put  me  beside  myself.  I  took  her  hand  and  violently 
dashed  it  from  me,  with  an  expression  of  abhorrence  and 
indignation  that  could  not  be  suppressed.  Startled,  almost 


WILDFELL  HALL  319 

appalled,  by  this  sudden  outbreak,  she  recoiled  in  silence.  I 
would  have  given  way  to  my  fury  and  said  more,  but  Arthur's 
low  laugh  recalled  me  to  myself.  I  checked  the  half -uttered 
invective,  and  scornfully  turned  away,  regretting  that  I  had 
given  him  so  much  amusement.  He  was  still  laughing  when 
Mr.  Hargrave  made  his  appearance.  How  much  of  the 
scene  he  had  witnessed  I  do  not  know,  for  the  door  was  ajar 
when  he  entered.  He  greeted  his  host  and  his  cousin  both 
coldly,  and  me  with  a  glance  intended  to  express  the  deepest 
sympathy  mingled  with  high  admiration  and  esteem. 

'  How  much  allegiance  do  you  owe  to  that  man  ? '  he 
asked  below  his  breath,  as  he  stood  beside  me  at  the  window, 
affecting  to  be  making  observations  on  the  weather. 

'  None,'  I  answered.  And  immediately  returning  to  the 
table,  I  employed  myself  in  making  the  tea.  He  followed, 
and  would  have  entered  into  some  kind  of  conversation  with 
me,  but  the  other  guests  were  now  beginning  to  assemble, 
and  I  took  no  more  notice  of  him,  except  to  give 'him  his 
coffee. 

After  breakfast,  determined  to  pass  as  little  of  the  day  as 
possible  in  company  with  Lady  Lowborough,  I  quietly  stole 
away  from  the  company  and  retired  to  the  library.  Mr. 
Hargrave  followed  me  thither,  under  pretence  of  coming  for 
a  book;  and  first,  turning  to  the  shelves,  he  selected  a 
volume,  and  then  quietly,  but  by  no  means  timidly,  approach- 
ing me,  he  stood  beside  me,  resting  his  hand  on  the  back  of 
my  chair,  and  said  softly,  '  And  so  you  consider  yourself  free 
at  last?' 

'  Yes,'  said  I,  without  moving,  or  raising  my  eyes  from 
my  book,  'free  to  do  anything  but  offend  God  and  my 
conscience.' 

There  was  a  momentary  pause. 

'  Very  right,'  said  he,  '  provided  your  conscience  be  not 
too  morbidly  tender,  and  your  ideas  of  God  not  too  errone- 
ously severe;  but  can  you  suppose  it  would  offend  that 
benevolent  Being  to  make  the  happiness  of  one  who  would 
die  for  yours? — to  raise  a  devoted  heart  from  purgatorial 


320  THE   TENANT  OF 

torments  to  a  state  of  heavenly  bliss,  when  you  could  do  it 
without  the  slightest  injury  to  yourself  or  any  other  ?  ' 

This  was  spoken  in  a  low,  earnest,  melting  tone,  as  he 
bent  over  me.  I  now  raised  my  head  ;  and  steadily  con- 
fronting his  gaze,  I  answered  calmly,  '  Mr.  Hargrave,  do  you 
mean  to  insult  me  ? ' 

He  was  not  prepared  for  this.  He  paused  a  moment  to 
recover  the  shock ;  then,  drawing  himself  up  and  removing 
his  hand  from  my  chair,  he  answered,  with  proud  sadness, — 
'  That  was  not  my  intention.' 

I  just  glanced  towards  the  door,  with  a  slight  movement 
of  the  head,  and  then  returned  to  my  book.  He  immediately 
withdrew.  This  was  better  than  if  I  had  answered  with 
more  words,  and  in  the  passionate  spirit  to  which  my  first 
impulse  would  have  prompted.  What  a  good  thing  it  is  to 
be  able  to  command  one's  temper !  I  must  labour  to 
cultivate  this  inestimable  quality :  God  only  knows  how 
often  I  shall  need  it  in  this  rough,  dark  road  that  lies  before  me. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning  I  drove  over  to  the  Grove 
with  the  two  ladies,  to  give  Milicent  an  opportunity  for 
bidding  farewell  to  her  mother  and  sister.  They  persuaded 
her  to  stay  with  them  the  rest  of  the  day,  Mrs.  Hargrave 
promising  to  bring  her  back  in  the  evening  and  remain  till 
the  party  broke  up  on  the  morrow.  Consequently,  Lady 
Lowborough  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  returning  tetc-d-t&te 
in  the  carriage  together.  For  the  first  mile  or  two  we  kept 
silence,  I  looking  out  of  my  window,  and  she  leaning  back  in 
her  corner.  But  I  was  not  going  to  restrict  myself  to  any 
particular  position  for  her ;  when  I  was  tired  of  leaning  for- 
ward, with  the  cold,  raw  wind  in  my  face,  and  surveying  the 
russet  hedges  and  the  damp,  tangled  grass  of  their  banks,  I 
gave  it  up  and  leant  back  too.  With  her  usual  impudence, 
my  companion  then  made  some  attempts  to  get  up  a 
conversation ;  but  the  monosyllables  '  yes,'  or  '  no '  or 
'  humph,'  were  the  utmost  her  several  remarks  could  elicit 
from  me.  At  last,  on  her  asking  my  opinion  upon  some 
immaterial  point  of  discussion,  I  answered, — '  Why  do  you 


WILDFELL  HALL  321 

wish  to  talk  to  me,  Lady  Lowborough?     You  must  know 
what  I  think  of  you.' 

'  Well,  if  you  will  be  so  bitter  against  me,'  replied  she,  '  I 
can't  help  it ;  but  I'm  not  going  to  sulk  for  anybody.' 

Our  short  drive  was  now  at  an  end.  As  soon  as  the 
carriage  door  was  opened,  she  sprang  out,  and  went  down 
the  park  to  meet  the  gentlemen,  who  were  just  returning 
from  the  woods.  Of  course  I  did  not  follow. 

But  I  had  not  done  with  her  impudence  yet :  after  dinner, 
I  retired  to  the  drawing-room,  as  usual,  and  she  accompanied 
me,  but  I  had  the  two  children  with  me,  and  I  gave  them  my 
whole  attention,  and  determined  to  keep  them  till  the  gentle- 
men came,  or  till  Milicent  arrived  with  her  mother.  Little 
Helen,  however,  was  soon  tired  of  playing,  and  insisted 
upon  going  to  sleep  ;  and  while  I  sat  on  the  sofa  with  her  on 
my  knee,  and  Arthur  seated  beside  me,  gently  playing 
with  her  soft,  flaxen  hah-,  Lady  Lowborough  composedly 
came  and  placed  herself  on  the  other  side. 

'  To-morrow,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,'  said  she,  '  you  will  be 
delivered  from  my  presence,  which,  no  doubt,  you  will  be 
very  glad  of — it  is  natural  you  should ;  but  do  you  know  I 
have  rendered  you  a  great  service  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  what 
it  is  ? ' 

'  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  of  any  service  you  have  rendered 
me,'  said  I,  determined  to  be  calm,  for  I  knew  by  the  tone  of 
her  voice  she  wanted  to  provoke  me. 

1  Well,'  resumed  she,  '  have  you  not  observed  the  salutary 
change  in  Mr.  Huntingdon  ?  Don't  you  see  what  a  sober, 
temperate  man  he  is  become  ?  You  saw  with  regret  the  sad 
habits  he  was  contracting,  I  know  :  and  I  know  you  did  your 
utmost  to  deliver  him  from  them,  but  without  success,  until 
I  came  to  your  assistance.  I  told  him  in  few  words  that  I 
could  not  bear  to  see  him  degrade  himself  so,  and  that  I 
should  cease  to — no  matter  what  I  told  him,  but  you  see 
the  reformation  I  have  wrought ;  and  you  ought  to  thank  me 
for  it.' 

I  rose  and  rang  for  the  nurse. 


322  THE   TENANT  OF 

'  But  I  desire  no  thanks,'  she  continued  ;  '  all  the  return 
I  ask  is,  that  you  will  take  care  of  him  when  I  am  gone,  and 
not,  by  harshness  and  neglect,  drive  him  back  to  his  old 
courses.' 

I  was  almost  sick  with  passion,  but  Kachel  was  now  at 
the  door.  I  pointed  to  the  children,  for  I  could  not  trust 
myself  to  speak  :  she  took  them  away,  and  I  followed. 

1  Will  you,  Helen  ? '  continued  the  speaker. 

I  gave  her  a  look  that  blighted  the  malicious  smile  on  her 
face,  or  checked  it,  at  least  for  a  moment,  and  departed.     In 
the  ante-room  I  met  Mr.  Hargrave.     He  saw  I  was  in  no 
humour  to  be  spoken  to,  and  suffered  me  to  pass  without  a 
word ;  but  when,  after  a  few  minutes'  seclusion  in  the  library, 
I  had  regained  my  composure,  and  was  returning  to  join  Mrs. 
Hargrave  and  Milicent,  whom  I  had  just  heard  come  down- 
stairs and  go  into  the  drawing-room,  I  found  him  there  still 
lingering   in   the   dimly-lighted   apartment,    and    evidently 
waiting  for  me. 

'  Mrs.  Huntingdon,"  said  he  as  I  passed,  '  will  you  allow 
me  one  word  ? ' 

'  What  is  it  then  ?  be  quick,  if  you  please.' 

I 1  offended  you  this  morning ;  and  I  cannot  live  under 
your  displeasure.' 

'  Then  go,  and  sin  no  more,'  replied  I,  turning  &  way. 

'No,  no!'  said  he,  hastily,  setting  himself  before  me. 
'  Pardon  me,  but  I  must  have  your  forgiveness.  I  leave  you 
to-morrow,  and  I  may  not  have  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to 
you  again.  I  was  wrong  to  forget  myself  and  you,  as  I  did  ; 
but  let  me  implore  you  to  forget  and  forgive  my  rash  pre- 
sumption, and  think  of  me  as  if  those  words  had  never  been 
spoken ;  for,  believe  me,  I  regret  them  deeply,  and  the  loss  of 
your  esteem  is  too  severe  a  penalty :  I  cannot  bear  it.' 

'  Forgetfulness  is  not  to  be  purchased  with  a  wish ;  and  I 
cannot  bestow  my  esteem  on  all  who  desire  it,  unless  they 
deserve  it  too.' 

'  I  shall  think  my  life  well  spent  in  labouring  to  deserve  it, 
if  you  will  but  pardon  this  offence — will  you  ? ' 


WILDFELL  HALL  323 

'  Yes.' 

'  Yes  !  but  that  is  coldly  spoken.  Give  me  your  hand  and 
I'll  believe  you.  You  won't?  Then,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  you 
do  not  forgive  me ! ' 

'  Yes ;  here  it  is,  and  my  forgiveness  with  it :  only,  sin  no 
more.' 

He  pressed  my  cold  hand  with  sentimental  fervour,  but 
said  nothing,  and  stood  aside  to  let  me  pass  into  the  room, 
where  all  the  company  were  now  assembled.  Mr.  Grimsby 
was  seated  near  the  door :  on  seeing  me  enter,  almost 
immediately  followed  by  Hargrave,  he  leered  at  me  with  a 
glance  of  intolerable  significance,  as  I  passed.  I  looked  him 
in  the  face,  till  he  sullenly  turned  away,  if  not  ashamed,  at 
least  confounded  for  the  moment.  Meantime  Hattersley  had 
seized  Hargrave  by  the  arm,  and  was  whispering  something 
in  his  ear — some  coarse  joke,  no  doubt,  for  the  latter  neither 
laughed  nor  spoke  in  answer,  but,  turning  from  him  with  a 
slight  curl  of  the  lip,  disengaged  himself  and  went  to  his 
mother,  who  was  telling  Lord  Lowborough  how  many  reasons 
she  had  to  be  proud  of  her  son. 

Thank  heaven,  they  are  all  going  to-morrow 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

DECEMBER  20TH,  1824. — This  is  the  third  anniversary  of  our 
felicitous  union.  It  is  now  two  months  since  our  guests  left 
us  to  the  enjoyment  of  each  other's  society ;  and  I  have  had 
nine  weeks'  experience  of  this  new  phase  of  conjugal  life — two 
persons  living  together,  as  master  and  mistress  of  the  house, 
and  father  and  mother  of  a  winsome,  merry  little  child,  with 
the  mutual  understanding  that  there  is  no  love,  friendship, 
or  sympathy  between  them.  As  far  as  in  me  lies,  I  endeavour 
to  live  peaceably  with  him  :  I  treat  him  with  unimpeachable 
civility,  give  up  my  convenience  to  his,  wherever  it  may 
reasonably  be  done,  and  consult  him  in  a  business-like  way 
on  household  affairs,  deferring  to  his  pleasure  and  judgment, 
even  when  I  know  the  latter  to  be  inferior  to  my  own. 

As  for  him,  for  the  first  week  or  two,  he  was  peevish  and 
low,  fretting,  I  suppose,  over  his  dear  Annabella's  departure, 
and  particularly  ill-tempered  to  me  :  everything  I  did  was 
wrong ;  I  was  cold-hearted,  hard,  insensate ;  my  sour,  pale 
face  was  perfectly  repulsive  ;  my  voice  made  him  shudder ; 
he  knew  not  how  he  could  live  through  the  winter  with  me ; 
I  should  kill  him  by  inches.  Again  I  proposed  a  separation, 
but  it  would  not  do  :  he  was  not  going  to  be  the  talk  of  all 
the  old  gossips  in  the  neighbourhood :  he  would  not  have  it 
said  that  he  was  such  a  brute  his  wife  could  not  live  with  him. 
No ;  he  must  contrive  to  bear  with  me. 

'  I  must  contrive  to  bear  with  you,  you  mean,'  said  I ;  '  for 
so  long  as  I  discharge  my  functions  of  steward  and  house- 
keeper, so  conscientiously  and  well,  without  pay  and  without 
thanks,  you  cannot  afford  to  part  with  me.  I  shall  therefore 


WILDFELL   HALL  325 

remit  these  duties  when  my  bondage  becomes  intolerable.' 
This  threat,  I  thought,  would  serve  to  keep  him  in  check,  if 
anything  would. 

I  believe  he  was  much  disappointed  that  I  did  not  feel  his 
offensive  sayings  more  acutely,  for  when  he  had  said  anything 
particularly  well  calculated  to  hurt  my  feelings,  he  would  stare 
me  searchingly  in  the  face,  and  then  grumble  against  my 
'  marble  heart '  or  my  '  brutal  insensibility.'  If  I  had  bitterly 
wept  and  deplored  his  lost  affection,  he  would,  perhaps,  have 
condescended  to  pity  me,  and  taken  me  into  favour  for  a 
while,  just  to  comfort  his  solitude  and  console  him  for  the 
absence  of  his  beloved  Annabella,  until  he  could  meet  her 
again,  or  some  more  fitting  substitute.  Thank  heaven,  I  am 
not  so  weak  as  that !  I  was  infatuated  once  with  a  foolish, 
besotted  affection,  that  clung  to  him  in  spite  of  his  unworthi- 
ness,  but  it  is  fairly  gone  now — wholly  crushed  and  withered 
away ;  and  he  has  none  but  himself  and  his  vices  to  thank 
for  it. 

At  first  (in  compliance  with  his  sweet  lady's  injunctions, 
I  suppose),  he  abstained  wonderfully  well  from  seeking  to 
solace  his  cares  in  wine ;  but  at  length  he  began  to  relax  his 
virtuous  efforts,  and  now  and  then  exceeded  a  little,  and  still 
continues  to  do  so ;  nay,  sometimes,  not  a  little.  When  he 
is  under  the  exciting  influence  of  these  excesses,  he  sometimes 
fires  up  and  attempts  to  play  the  brute ;  and  then  I  take  little 
pains  to  suppress  my  scorn  and  disgust.  When  he  is  under 
the  depressing  influence  of  the  after-consequences,  he  bemoans 
his  sufferings  and  his  errors,  and  charges  them  both  upon  me  ; 
he  knows  such  indulgence  injures  his  health,  and  does  him 
more  harm  than  good  ;  but  he  says  I  drive  him  to  it  by  my 
unnatural,  unwomanly  conduct ;  it  will  be  the  ruin  of  him 
in  the  end,  but  it  is  all  my  fault ;  and  then  I  am  roused  to 
defend  myself,  sometimes  with  bitter  recrimination.  This  is 
a  kind  of  injustice  I  cannot  patiently  endure.  Have  I  not 
laboured  long  and  hard  to  save  him  from  this  very  vice  ? 
Would  I  not  labour  still  to  deliver  him  from  it  if  I  could  ? 
But  could  I  do  so  by  fawning  upon  him  and  caressing  him 


326  THE  TENANT  OF 

when  I  know  that  he  scorns  me  ?  Is  it  my  fault  that  I  have 
lost  my  influence  with  him,  or  that  he  has  forfeited  every 
claim  to  my  regard  ?  And  should  I  seek  a  reconciliation  with 
him,  when  I  feel  that  I  abhor  him,  and  that  he  despises  me  ? 
and  while  he  continues  still  to  correspond  with  Lady  Low- 
borough,  as  I  know  he  does  ?  No,  never,  never,  never !  he 
may  drink  himself  dead,  but  it  is  NOT  my  fault  1 

Yet  I  do  my  part  to  save  him  still :  I  give  him  to  under- 
stand that  drinking  makes  his  eyes  dull,  and  his  face  red  and 
bloated  ;  and  that  it  tends  to  render  him  imbecile  in  body 
and  mind  ;  and  if  Annabella  were  to  see  him  as  often  as  I 
do,  she  would  speedily  be  disenchanted  ;  and  that  she  cer- 
tainly will  withdraw  her  favour  from  him,  if  he  continues 
such  courses.  Such  a  mode  of  admonition  wins  only  coarse 
abuse  for  me — and,  indeed,  I  almost  feel  as  if  I  deserved  it, 
for  I  hate  to  use  such  arguments ;  but  they  sink  into  his 
stupefied  heart,  and  make  him  pause,  and  ponder,  and 
abstain,  more  than  anything  else  I  could  say. 

At  present  I  am  enjoying  a  temporary  relief  from  his 
presence  :  he  is  gone  with  Hargrave  to  join  a  distant  hunt, 
and  will  probably  not  be  back  before  to-morrow  evening. 
How  differently  I  used  to  feel  his  absence ! 

Mr.  Hargrave  is  still  at  the  Grove.  He  and  Arthur  fre- 
quently meet  to  pursue  their  rural  sports  together  :  he  often 
calls  upon  us  here,  and  Arthur  not  unfrequently  rides  over  to 
him.  I  do  not  think  either  of  these  soi-disant  friends  is  over- 
flowing with  love  for  the  other  ;  but  such  intercourse  serves 
to  get  the  time  on,  and  I  am  very  willing  it  should  continue, 
as  it  saves  me  some  hours  of  discomfort  in  Arthur's  society, 
and  gives  him  some  better  employment  than  the  sottish  in- 
dulgence of  his  sensual  appetites.  The  only  objection  I  have 
to  Mr.  Hargrave's  being  in  the  neighbourhood,  is  that  the 
fear  of  meeting  him  at  the  Grove  prevents  me  from  seeing  his 
sister  so  often  as  I  otherwise  should  ;  for,  of  late,  he  has 
conducted  himself  towards  me  with  such  unerring  propriety, 
that  I  have  almost  forgotten  his  former  conduct.  I  suppose 
he  is  striving  to  '  win  my  esteem.'  If  he  continue  to  act  in 


WILDFELL  HALL  327 

this  way,  he  may  win  it ;  but  what  then  ?     The  moment  he 
attempts  to  demand  anything  more,  he  will  lose  it  again. 

February  10th. — It  is  a  hard,  embittering  thing  to  have 
one's  kind  feelings  and  good  intentions  cast  back  in  one's 
teeth.  I  was  beginning  to  relent  towards  my  wretched 
partner ;  to  pity  his  forlorn,  comfortless  condition,  unallevi- 
ated  as  it  is  by  the  consolations  of  intellectual  resources 
and  the  answer  of  a  good  conscience  towards  God ;  and  to 
think  I  ought  to  sacrifice  my  pride,  and  renew  my  efforts  once 
again  to  make  his  home  agreeable  and  lead  him  back  to  the 
path  of  virtue  ;  not  by  false  professions  of  love,  and  not  by 
pretended  remorse,  but  by  mitigating  my  habitual  coldness 
of  manner,  and  commuting  my  frigid  civility  into  kindness 
wherever  an  opportunity  occurred ;  and  not  only  was  I  be- 
ginning to  think  so,  but  I  had  already  begun  to  act  upon  the 
thought — and  what  was  the  result  ?  No  answering  spark  of 
kindness,  no  awakening  penitence,  but  an  unappeasable  ill- 
humour,  and  a  spirit  of  tyrannous  exaction  that  increased 
with  indulgence,  and  a  lurking  gleam  of  self-complacent 
triumph  at  every  detection  of  relenting  softness  in  my 
manner,  that  congealed  me  to  marble  again  as  often  as  it  re- 
curred ;  and  this  morning  he  finished  the  business  : — I  think 
the  petrifaction  is  so  completely  effected  at  last  that  nothing 
can  melt  me  again.  Among  his  letters  was  one  which  he 
perused  with  symptoms  of  unusual  gratification,  and  then 
threw  it  across  the  table  to  me,  with  the  admonition, — 

'  There  !  read  that,  and  take  a  lesson  by  it !  ' 

It  was  in  the  free,  dashing  hand  of  Lady  Lowborough.  I 
glanced  at  the  first  page ;  it  seemed  full  of  extravagant  pro- 
testations of  affection  ;  impetuous  longings  for  a  speedy  re- 
union ;  and  impious  defiance  of  God's  mandates,  and  railings 
against  His  providence  for  having  cast  their  lot  asunder,  and 
doomed  them  both  to  the  hateful  bondage  of  alliance  with 
those  they  could  not  love.  He  gave  a  slight  titter  on  seeing 
me  change  colour.  I  folded  up  the  letter,  rose,  and  returned 
it  to  him,  with  no  remark,  but — 

'  Thank  you  ;  I  will  take  a  lesson  by  it ! ' 


328  THE  TENANT  OF 

My  little  Arthur  was  standing  between  his  knees, 
delightedly  playing  with  the  bright,  ruby  ring  on  his  finger. 
Urged  by  a  sudden,  imperative  impulse  to  deliver  my  son 
from  that  contaminating  influence,  I  caught  him  up  in  my 
arms  and  carried  him  with  me  out  of  the  room.  Not  liking 
this  abrupt  removal,  the  child  began  to  pout  and  cry.  This 
was  a  new  stab  to  my  already  tortured  heart.  I  would  not 
let  him  go ;  but,  taking  him  with  me  into  the  library,  I  shut 
the  door,  and,  kneeling  on  the  floor  beside  him,  I  embraced 
him,  kissed  him,  wept  over  with  him  with  passionate  fond- 
ness. Rather  frightened  than  consoled  by  this,  he  turned 
struggling  from  me,  and  cried  out  aloud  for  his  papa.  I  re- 
leased him  from  my  arms,  and  never  were  more  bitter  tears 
than  those  that  now  concealed  him  from  my  blinded,  burn- 
ing eyes.  Hearing  his  cries,  the  father  came  to  the  room. 
I  instantly  turned  away,  lest  he  should  see  and  misconstrue 
my  emotion.  He  swore  at  me,  and  took  the  now  pacified 
child  away. 

It  is  hard  that  my  little  darling  should  love  him  more 
than  me  ;  and  that,  when  the  well-being  and  culture  of  my 
son  is  all  I  have  to  live  for,  I  should  see  my  influence 
destroyed  by  one  whose  selfish  affection  is  more  injurious 
than  the  coldest  indifference  or  the  harshest  tyranny  could 
be.  If  I,  for  his  good,  deny  him  some  trifling  indulgence,  he 
goes  to  his  father,  and  the  latter,  in  spite  of  his  selfish  indo- 
lence, will  even  give  himself  some  trouble  to  meet  the  child's 
desires  :  if  I  attempt  to  curb  his  will,  or  look  gravely  on  him 
for  some  act  of  childish  disobedience,  he  knows  his  other 
parent  will  smile  and  take  his  part  against  me.  Thus,  not 
only  have  I  the  father's  spirit  in  the  son  to  contend  against, 
the  germs  of  his  evil  tendencies  to  search  out  and  eradicate, 
and  his  corrupting  intercourse  and  example  in  after-life  to 
counteract,  but  already  he  counteracts  my  arduous  labour  for 
the  child's  advantage,  destroys  my  influence  over  his  tender 
mind,  and  robs  me  of  his  very  love  ;  I  had  no  earthly  hope 
but  this,  and  he  seems  to  take  a  diabolical  delight  in  tearing 
it  away. 


WILDFELL  HALL  329 

But  it  is  wrong  to  despair ;  I  will  remember  the  counsel 
of  the  inspired  writer  to  him  'that  feareth  the  Lord  and 
obeyeth  the  voice  of  his  servant,  that  sitteth  in  darkness  and 
hath  no  light ;  let  him  trust  in  the  name  of  the  Lord,  and 
stay  upon  his  God ! 


CHAPTEE    XXXVII 

DECEMBER  20rH,  1825. — Another  year  is  past  ;  and  I  am 
weary  of  this  life.  And  yet  I  cannot  wish  to  leave  it :  what- 
ever afflictions  assail  me  here,  I  cannot  wish  to  go  and  leave 
my  darling  in  this  dark  and  wicked  world  alone,  without  a 
friend  to  guide  him  through  its  weary  mazes,  to  warn  him  of 
its  thousand  snares,  and  guard  him  from  the  perils  that  beset 
him  on  every  hand.  I  am  not  well  fitted  to  be  his  only  com- 
panion, I  know ;  but  there  is  no  other  to  supply  my  place. 
I  am  too  grave  to  minister  to  his  amusements  and  enter  into 
his  infantile  sports  as  a  nurse  or  a  mother  ought  to  do,  and 
often  his  bursts  of  gleeful  merriment  trouble  and  alarm  me ; 
I  see  in  them  his  father's  spirit  and  temperament,  and  I 
tremble  for  the  consequences  ;  and  too  often  damp  the  inno- 
cent mirth  I  ought  to  share.  That  father,  on  the  contrary,  has 
no  weight  of  sadness  on  his  mind ;  is  troubled  with  no  fears, 
no  scruples  concerning  his  son's  future  welfare ;  and  at  even- 
ings especially,  the  times  when  the  child  sees  him  the  most 
and  the  oftenest,  he  is  always  particularly  jocund  and  open- 
hearted  :  ready  to  laugh  and  to  jest  with  anything  or  any- 
body but  me,  and  I  am  particularly  silent  and  sad  :  therefore, 
of  course,  the  child  dotes  upon  his  seemingly  joyous 
amusing,  ever-indulgent  papa,  and  will  at  any  time  gladly 
exchange  my  company  for  his.  This  disturbs  me  greatly ; 
not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  my  son's  affection  (though  I  do 
prize  that  highly,  and  though  I  feel  it  is  my  right,  and  know 
I  have  done  much  to  earn  it)  as  for  that  influence  over  him 
which,  for  his  own  advantage,  I  would  strive  to  purchase, 


WILDFELL  HALL  331 

and  retain,  and  which  for  very  spite  his  father  delights  to  rob 
me  of,  and,  from  motives  of  mere  idle  egotism,  is  pleased  to 
win  to  himself ;  making  no  use  of  it  but  to  torment  me  and 
ruin  the  child.  My  only  consolation  is,  that  he  spends  com- 
paratively little  of  his  time  at  home,  and,  during  the  months 
he  passes  in  London  or  elsewhere,  I  have  a  chance  of  re- 
covering the  ground  I  had  lost,  and  overcoming  with  good  the 
evil  he  has  wrought  by  his  wilful  mismanagement.  But  then 
it  is  a  bitter  trial  to  behold  him,  on  his  return,  doing  his 
utmost  to  subvert  my  labours  and  transform  my  innocent, 
affectionate,  tractable  darling  into  a  selfish,  disobedient,  and 
mischievous  boy  ;  thereby  preparing  the  soil  for  those  vices 
he  has  so  successfully  cultivated  in  his  own  perverted  nature. 

Happily,  there  were  none  of  Arthur's  '  friends '  invited  to 
Grassdale  last  autumn :  he  took  himself  off  to  visit  some  of 
them  instead.  I  wish  he  would  always  do  so,  and  I  wish 
his  friends  were  numerous  and  loving  enough  to  keep  him 
amongst  them  all  the  year  round.  Mr.  Hargrave,  consider- 
ably to  my  annoyance,  did  not  go  with  him ;  but  I  think  I 
have  done  with  that  gentleman  at  last. 

For  seven  or  eight  months  he  behaved  so  remarkably 
well,  and  managed  so  skilfully  too,  that  I  was  almost 
completely  off  my  guard,  and  was  really  beginning  to  look 
upon  him  as  a  friend,  and  even  to  treat  him  as  such,  with 
certain  prudent  restrictions  (which  I  deemed  scarcely  neces- 
sary) ;  when,  presuming  upon  my  unsuspecting  kindness,  he 
thought  he  might  venture  to  overstep  the  bounds  of  decent 
moderation  and  propriety  that  had  so  long  restrained  him. 
It  was  on  a  pleasant  evening  at  the  close  of  May :  I  was 
wandering  in  the  park,  and  he,  on  seeing  me  there  as  he  rode 
past,  made  bold  to  enter  and  approach  me,  dismounting  and 
leaving  his  horse  at  the  gate.  This  was  the  first  time  he  had 
ventured  to  come  within  its  inclosure  since  I  had  been  left 
alone,  without  the  sanction  of  his  mother's  or  sister's 
company,  or  at  least  the  excuse  of  a  message  from  them. 
But  he  managed  to  appear  so  calm  and  easy,  so  respectful 
and  self-possessed  in  his  friendliness,  that,  though  a  little 


332  THE  TENANT  OF 

surprised,  I  was  neither  alarmed  nor  offended  at  the  unusual 
liberty,  and  he  walked  with  me  under  the  ash-trees  and  by 
the  water-side,  and  talked,  with  considerable  animation,  good 
taste,  and  intelligence,  on  many  subjects,  before  I  began  to 
think  about  getting  rid  of  him.  Then,  after  a  pause,  during 
which  we  both  stood  gazing  on  the  calm,  blue  water — I 
revolving  in  my  mind  the  best  means  of  politely  dismissing 
my  companion,  he,  no  doubt,  pondering  other  matters  equally 
alien  to  the  sweet  sights  and  sounds  that  alone  were  present 
to  his  senses, — he  suddenly  electrified  me  by  beginning,  in  a 
peculiar  tone,  low,  soft,  but  perfectly  distinct,  to  pour  forth 
the  most  unequivocal  expressions  of  earnest  and  passionate 
love ;  pleading  his  cause  with  all  the  bold  yet  artful 
eloquence  he  could  summon  to  his  aid.  But  I  cut  short  his 
appeal,  and  repulsed  him  so  determinately,  so  decidedly, 
and  with  such  a  mixture  of  scornful  indignation,  tempered 
with  cool,  dispassionate  sorrow  and  pity  for  his  benighted 
mind,  that  he  withdrew,  astonished,  mortified,  and  dis- 
comforted ;  and,  a  few  days  after,  I  heard  that  he  had 
departed  for  London.  He  returned,  however,  in  eight  or 
nine  weeks,  and  did  not  entirely  keep  aloof  from  me,  but 
comported  himself  in  so  remarkable  a  manner  that  his  quick- 
sighted  sister  could  not  fail  to  notice  the  change. 

'  What  have  you  done  to  Walter,  Mrs.  Huntingdon  ? ' 
said  she  one  morning,  when  I  had  called  at  the  Grove,  and 
he  had  just  left  the  room  after  exchanging  a  few  words  of 
the  coldest  civility.  '  He  has  been  so  extremely  ceremonious 
and  stately  of  late,  I  can't  imagine  what  it  is  all  about, 
unless  you  have  desperately  offended  him.  Tell  me  what  it 
is,  that  I  may  be  your  mediator,  and  make  you  friends  again.' 

'I  have  done  nothing  willingly  to  offend  him,'  said  I. 
'  If  he  is  offended,  he  can  best  tell  you  himself  what  it  is 
about.' 

1  I'll  ask  him,'  cried  the  giddy  girl,  springing  up  and 
putting  her  head  out  of  the  window :  '  he's  only  in  the 
garden — Walter  ! ' 

'  No,  no,  Esther !  you  will  seriously  displease  me  if  you 


333 

do  ;  and  I  shall  leave  you  immediately,  and  not  come  again 
for  months — perhaps  years.' 

1  Did  you  call,  Esther  ? '  said  her  brother,  approaching 
the  window  from  without. 

'  Yes  ;  I  wanted  to  ask  you ' 

'  Good-morning,  Either,'  said  I,  taking  her  hand  and 
giving  it  a  severe  squeeze. 

'  To  ask  you,"  continued  she,  '  to  get  me  a  rose  for 
Mrs.  Huntingdon.'  He  departed.  '  Mrs.  Huntingdon/  she 
exclaimed,  turning  to  me  and  still  holding  me  fast  by  the 
hand,  '  I'm  quite  shocked  at  you — you're  just  as  angry,  and 
distant,  and  cold  as  he  is  :  and  I'm  determined  you  shall  be 
as  good  friends  as  ever  before  you  go.' 

'  Esther,  how  can  you  be  so  rude ! '  cried  Mrs.  Hargrave, 
who  was  seated  gravely  knitting  in  her  easy-chair.  '  Surely, 
you  never  will  learn  to  conduct  yourself  like  a  lady  ! ' 

'  Well,  mamma,  you  said  yourself '  But  the  young 

lady  was  silenced  by  the  uplifted  finger  of  her  mamma, 
accompanied  with  a  very  stern  shake  of  the  head. 

'  Isn't  she  cross  ?  '  whispered  she  to  me ;  but,  before 
I  could  add  my  share  of  reproof,  Mr.  Hargrave  reappeared 
at  the  window  with  a  beautiful  moss-rose  in  his  hand. 

1  Here,  Esther,  I've  brought  you  the  rose,'  said  he, 
extending  it  towards  her. 

'  Give  it  her  yourself,  you  blockhead  ! '  cried  she,  recoiling 
with  a  spring  from  between  us. 

'  Mrs.  Huntingdon  would  rather  receive  it  from  you,' 
replied  he,  in  a  very  serious  tone,  but  lowering  his  voice 
that  his  mother  might  not  hear.  His  sister  took  the  rose 
and  gave  it  to  me. 

1  My  brother's  compliments,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  and 
he  hopes  you  and  he  will  come  to  a  better  under- 
standing by-and-by.  Will  that  do,  Walter  ?  '  added  the 
saucy  girl,  turning  to  him  and  putting  her  arm  round  his 
neck,  as  he  stood  leaning  upon  the  sill  of  the  window — '  or 
should  I  have  said  that  you  are  sorry  you  were  so  touchy  ? 
or  that  you  hope  she  will  pardon  your  offence  ?  ' 


334  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  You  silly  girl !  you  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about/  replied  he  gravely. 

'  Indeed  I  don't :  for  I'm  quite  in  the  dark ! ' 

'  Now,  Esther/  interposed  Mrs.  Hargrave,  who,  if  equally 
benighted  on  the  subject  of  our  esti'angement,  saw  at  least 
that  her  daughter  was  behaving  very  improperly,  '  I  must 
insist  upon  your  leaving  the  room  ! ' 

'  Pray  don't,  Mrs.  Hargrave,  for  I'm  going  to  leave  it 
myself/  said  I,  and  immediately  made  my  adieux. 

About  a  week  after  Mr.  Hargrave  brought  his  sister  to 
see  me.  He  conducted  himself,  at  first,  with  his  usual  cold, 
distant,  half-stately,  half-melancholy,  altogether  injured  air ; 
but  Esther  made  no  remark  upon  it  this  time  :  she  had 
evidently  been  schooled  into  better  manners.  She  talked  to 
me,  and  laughed  and  romped  with  little  Arthur,  her  loved 
and  loving  playmate.  He,  somewhat  to  my  discomfort, 
enticed  her  from  the  room  to  have  a  run  in  the  hall,  and 
thence  into  the  garden.  I  got  up  to  stir  the  fire.  Mr.  Har- 
grave asked  if  I  felt  cold,  and  shut  the  door — a  very  un- 
seasonable piece  of  officiousness,  for  I  had  meditated 
following  the  noisy  playfellows  if  they  did  not  speedily 
return.  He  then  took  the  liberty  of  walking  up  to  the  fire 
himself,  and  asking  me  if  I  were  aware  that  Mr.  Huntingdon 
was  now  at  the  seat  of  Lord  Lowborough,  and  likely  to 
continue  there  some  time. 

1  No  ;  but  it's  no  matter/  I  answered  carelessly ;  and  if 
my  cheek  glowed  like  fire,  it  was  rather  at  the  question  than 
the  information  it  conveyed. 

'  You  don't  object  to  it  ?'  he  said. 

'  Not  at  all,  if  Lord  Lowborough  likes  his  company.' 

'  You  have  no  love  left  for  him,  then  ?  ' 

'  Not  the  least.' 

'  I  knew  that — I  knew  you  were  too  high-minded  and 
pure  in  your  own  nature  to  continue  to  regard  one  so  utterly 
false  and  polluted  with  any  feelings  but  those  of  indignation 
and  scornful  abhorrence  ! ' 

1  Is  he  not  your  friend  ?  '  said  I,  turning  my  eyes  from 


WILDFELL  HALL  335 

the  fire  to  his  face,  with  perhaps  a  slight  touch  of  those 
feelings  he  assigned  to  another. 

'He  was/  replied  he,  with  the  same  calm  gravity  as 
before ;  '  but  do  not  wrong  me  by  supposing  that  I  could 
continue  my  friendship  and  esteem  to  a  man  who  could  so 
infamously,  so  impiously  forsake  and  injure  one  so  trans- 

cendently well,  I  won't  speak  of  it.  But  tell  me,  do  you 

never  think  of  revenge  ? ' 

'  Eevenge  !  No — what  good  would  that  do  ? — it  would 
make  him  no  better,  and  me  no  happier.' 

'  I  don't  know  how  to  talk  to  you,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,' 
said  he,  smiling  ;  '  you  are  only  half  a  woman — your  nature 
must  be  half  human,  half  angelic.  Such  goodness  overawes 
me  ;  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it.' 

'  Then,  sir,  I  fear  you  must  be  very  much  worse  than  you 
should  be,  if  I,  a  mere  ordinary  mortal,  am,  by  your  own 
confession,  so  vastly  your  superior  ;  and  since  there  exists  so 
little  sympathy  between  us,  I  think  we  had  better  each  look 
out  for  some  more  congenial  companion.'  And  forthwith 
moving  to  the  window,  I  began  to  look  out  for  my  little  son 
and  his  gay  young  friend. 

'No,  I  am  the  ordinary  mortal,  I  maintain,'  replied 
Mr.  Hargrave.  '  I  will  not  allow  myself  to  be  worse  than  my 
fellows ;  but  you,  Madam — I  equally  maintain  there  is  no- 
body like  you.  But  are  you  happy  ? '  he  asked  in  a  serious  tone. 

'  As  happy  as  some  others,  I  suppose.' 

'  Are  you  as  happy  as  you  desire  to  be  ? ' 

'  No  one  is  so  blest  as  that  comes  to  on  this  side 
eternity.' 

'  One  thing  I  know,'  returned  he,  with  a  deep  sad  sigh  ; 
'  you  are  immeasurably  happier  than  I  am.' 

'  I  am  very  so;try  for  you,  then,'  I  could  not  help  replying. 

'  Are  you,  indeed  ?  No,  for  if  you  were  you  would  be 
glad  to  relieve  me.' 

'  And  so  I  should  if  I  could  do  so  without  injuring  myself 
or  any  other.' 

'  And  can  you  suppose  that  I  should  wish  you  to  injure 


336  THE   TENANT  OF 

yourself  ?  No  :  on  the  contrary,  it  is  your  own  happiness  I 
long  for  more  than  mine.  You  are  miserable  now,  Mrs. 
Huntingdon,'  continued  he,  looking  me  boldly  in  the  face. 
'  You  do  not  complain,  but  I  see — and  feel — and  know 
that  you  are  miserable — and  must  remain  so  as  long  as  you 
keep  those  walls  of  impenetrable  ice  about  your  still  warm 
and  palpitating  heart ;  and  I  am  miserable,  too.  Deign  to 
smile  on  me  and  I  am  happy :  trust  me,  and  you  shall  be 
happy  also,  for  if  you  are  a  woman  I  can  make  you  so — and 
I  will  do  it  in  spite  of  yourself ! '  he  muttered  between  his 
teeth ;  '  and  as  for  others,  the  question  is  between  ourselves 
alone :  you  cannot  injure  your  husband,  you  know,  and  no 
one  else  has  any  concern  in  the  matter.' 

'  I  have  a  son,  Mr.  Hargrave,  and  you  have  a  mother,' 
said  I,  retiring  from  the  window,  whither  he  had  followed  me. 

'  They  need  not  know,'  he  began  ;  but  before  anything 
more  could  be  said  on  either  side,  Esther  and  Arthur  re- 
entered  the  room.  The  former  glanced  at  Walter's  flushed, 
excited  countenance,  and  then  at  mine — a  little  flushed  and 
excited  too,  I  daresay,  though  from  far  different  causes.  She 
must  have  thought  we  had  been  quarrelling  desperately,  and 
was  evidently  perplexed  and  disturbed  at  the  circumstance  ; 
but  she  was  too  polite  or  too  much  afraid  of  her  brother's 
anger  to  refer  to  it.  She  seated  herself  on  the  sofa,  and 
putting  back  her  bright,  golden  ringlets,  that  were  scattered 
in  wild  profusion  over  her  face,  she  immediately  began  to 
talk  about  the  garden  and  her  little  playfellow,  and  continued 
to  chatter  away  in  her  usual  strain  till  her  brother  summoned 
her  to  depart. 

'  If  I  have  spoken  too  warmly,  forgive  me,'  he  mur- 
mured on  taking  his  leave,  '  or  I  shall  never  forgive  myself.' 

Esther  smiled  and  glanced  at  me  :  I  merely  bowed,  and 
her  countenance  fell.  She  thought  it  a  poor  return  for 
Walter's  generous  concession,  and  was  disappointed  in  her 
friend.  Poor  child,  she  little  knows  the  world  she  lives  in  ! 

Mr.  Hargrave  had  not  an  opportunity  of  meeting  me 
again  in  private  for  several  weeks  after  this ;  but  when  he 


WILDFELL  HALL  337 

did  meet  me  there  was  less  of  pride  and  more  of  touching 
melancholy  in  his  manner  than  before.  Oh,  how  he  annoyed 
me  !  I  was  obliged  at  last  almost  entirely  to  remit  my  visits 
to  the  Grove,  at  the  expense  of  deeply  offending  Mrs.  Har- 
grave  and  seriously  afflicting  poor  Esther,  who  really  values 
my  society  for  want  of  better,  and  who  ought  not  to  suffer 
for  the  fault  of  her  brother.  But  that  indefatigable  foe  was 
not  yet  vanquished  :  he  seemed  to  be  always  on  the  watch. 
I  frequently  saw  him  riding  lingeringly  past  the  premises, 
looking  searchingly  round  him  as  he  went — or,  if  I  did  not, 
Eachel  did.  That  sharp-sighted  woman  soon  guessed  how 
matters  stood  between  us,  and  descrying  the  enemy's  move- 
ments from  her  elevation  at  the  nursery-window,  she  would 
give  me  a  quiet  intimation  if  she  saw  me  preparing  for  a  walk 
when  she  had  reason  to  believe  he  was  about,  or  to  think  it 
likely  that  he  would  meet  or  overtake  me  in  the  way  I  meant 
to  traverse.  I  would  then  defer  my  ramble,  or  confine  my- 
self for  that  day  to  the  park  and  gardens,  or,  if  the  proposed 
excursion  was  a  matter  of  importance,  such  as  a  visit  to  the 
sick  or  afflicted,  I  would  take  Eachel  with  me,  and  then  I 
was  never  molested. 

But  one  mild,  sunshiny  day,  early  in  November,  I  had 
ventured  forth  alone  to  visit  the  village  school  and  a  few  of 
the  poor  tenants,  and  on  my  return  I  was  alarmed  at  the 
clatter  of  a  horse's  feet  behind  me,  approaching  at  a  rapid, 
steady  trot.  There  was  no  stile  or  gap  at  hand  by  which  I 
could  escape  into  the  fields,  so  I  walked  quietly  on,  saying 
to  myself,  '  It  may  not  be  he  after  all ;  and  if  it  is,  and  if  he 
do  annoy  me,  it  shall  be  for  the  last  time,  I  am  determined,  if 
there  be  power  in  words  and  looks  against  cool  impudence 
and  mawkish  sentimentality  so  inexhaustible  as  his.' 

The  horse  soon  overtook  me,  and  was  reined  up  close 
beside  me.  It  was  Mr.  Hargrave.  He  greeted  me  with  a 
smile  intended  to  be  soft  and  melancholy,  but  his  triumphant 
satisfaction  at  having  caught  me  at  last  so  shone  through 
that  it  was  quite  a  failure.  After  briefly  answering  his  salu- 
tation and  inquiring  after  the  ladies  at  the  Grove,  I  turned 


338  THE  TENANT  OF 

away  and  walked  on ;  but  he  followed  and  kept  his  horse 
at  my  side  :  it  was  evident  he  intended  to  be  my  companion 
all  the  way. 

4  Well !  I  don't  much  care.  If  you  want  another  rebuff, 
take  it — and  welcome,'  was  my  inward  remark.  '  Now,  sir, 
what  next  ? ' 

This  question,  though  unspoken,  was  not  long  unans- 
wered ;  after  a  few  passing  observations  upon  indifferent  sub- 
jects, he  began  in  solemn  tones  the  following  appeal  to  my 
humanity : — 

'  It  will  be  four  years  next  April  since  I  first  saw  you, 
Mrs.  Huntingdon — you  may  have  forgotten  the  circumstance, 
but  I  never  can.  I  admired  you  then  most  deeply,  but  I 
dared  not  love  you.  In  the  following  autumn  I  saw  so  much 
of  your  perfections  that  I  could  not  fail  to  love  you,  though 
I  dared  not  show  it.  For  upwards  of  three  years  I  have 
endured  a  perfect  martyrdom.  From  the  anguish  of  sup- 
pressed emotions,  intense  and  fruitless  longings,  silent  sorrow, 
crushed  hopes,  and  trampled  affections,  I  have  suffered  more 
than  I  can  tell,  or  you  imagine — and  you  were  the  cause  of 
it,  and  not  altogether  the  innocent  cause.  My  youth  is 
wasting  away ;  my  prospects  are  darkened ;  my  life  is  a 
desolate  blank  ;  I  have  no  rest  day  or  night :  I  am  become  a 
burden  to  myself  and  others,  and  you  might  save  me  by  a 
word — a  glance,  and  will  not  do  it — is  this  right  ?  ' 

4  In  the  first  place,  I  don't  believe  you,'  answered  I ;  '  in 
the  second,  if  you  will  be  such  a  fool,  I  can't  hinder  it.' 

4  If  you  affect,'  replied  he,  earnestly, '  to  regard  as  folly  the 
best,  the  strongest,  the  most  godlike  impulses  of  our  nature, 
I  don't  believe  you.  I  know  you  are  not  the  heartless,  icy 
being  you  pretend  to  be — you  had  a  heart  once,  and  gave  it 
to  your  husband.  When  you  found  him  utterly  unworthy 
of  the  treasure,  you  reclaimed  it ;  and  you  will  not  pretend 
that  you  loved  that  sensual,  earthly-minded  profligate  so 
deeply,  so  devotedly,  that  you  can  never  love  another  ?  I 
know  that  there  are  feelings  in  your  nature  that  have  never 
yet  been  called  forth  ;  I  know,  too,  that  in  your  present 


WILDFELL  HALL  339 

neglected  lonely  state  you  are  and  must  be  miserable.  You 
have  it  in  your  power  to  raise  two  human  beings  from  a  state 
of  actual  suffering  to  such  unspeakable  beatitude  as  only  gene- 
rous, noble,  self-forgetting  love  can  give  (for  you  can  love 
me  if  you  will) ;  you  may  tell  me  that  you  scorn  and  detest 
me,  but,  since  you  have  set  me  the  example  of  plain 
speaking,  I  will  answer  that  I  do  not  believe  you.  But  you 
will  not  do  it !  you  choose  rather  to  leave  us  miserable  ; 
and  you  coolly  tell  me  it  is  the  will  of  God  that  we  should 
remain  so.  You  may  call  this  religion,  but  I  call  it  wild 
fanaticism  ! ' 

'  There  is  another  life  both  for  you  and  for  me,'  said  I. 
'  If  it  be  the  will  of  God  that  we  should  sow  in  tears  now,  it 
is  only  that  we  may  reap  in  joy  hereafter.  It  is  His  will 
that  we  should  not  injure  others  by  the  gratification  of  our 
own  earthly  passions ;  and  you  have  a  mother,  and  sisters, 
and  friends  who  would  be  seriously  injured  by  your  disgrace  ; 
and  I,  too,  have  friends,  whose  peace  of  mind  shall  never  be 
sacrificed  to  my  enjoyment,  or  yours  either,  with  my  consent ; 
and  if  I  were  alone  in  the  world,  I  have  still  my  God  and 
my  religion,  and  I  would  sooner  die  than  disgrace  my 
calling  and  break  my  faith  with  heaven  to  obtain  a  few  brief 
years  of  false  and  fleeting  happiness — happiness  sure  to  end 
in  misery  even  here — for  myself  or  any  other  !  ' 

'  There  need  be  no  disgrace,  no  misery  or  sacrifice  in  any 
quarter,'  persisted  he.  '  I  do  not  ask  you  to  leave  your 
home  or  defy  the  world's  opinion.'  But  I  need  not  repeat 
all  his  arguments.  I  refuted  them  to  the  best  of  my  power  ; 
but  that  power  was  provokingly  small,  at  the  moment,  for  I 
was  too  much  flurried  with  indignation — and  even  shame — 
that  he  should  thus  dare  to  address  me,  to  retain  sufficient 
command  of  thought  and  language  to  enable  me  adequately  to 
contend  against  his  powerful  sophistries.  Finding,  however, 
that  he  could  not  be  silenced  by  reason,  and  even  covertly 
exulted  in  his  seeming  advantage,  and  ventured  to  deride 
those  assertions  I  had  not  the  coolness  to  prove,  I  changed 
my  course  and  tried  another  plan. 


340  THE  TENANT  OP 

'  Do  you  really  love  me  ? '  said  I,  seriously,  pausing  and 
looking  him  calmly  in  the  face. 

'  Do  I  love  you  ! '  cried  he. 

'Truly?' I  demanded. 

His  countenance  brightened  ;  he  thought  his  triumph 
was  at  hand.  He  commenced  a  passionate  protestation  of 
the  truth  and  fervour  of  his  attachment,  which  I  cut  short  by 
another  question  : — 

I  But  is  it  not  a  selfish  love  ?     Have  you  enough  disin- 
terested   affection   to    enable   you    to   sacrifice    your   own 
pleasure  to  mine  ?  ' 

I 1  would  give  my  life  to  serve  you.' 

'  I  don't  want  your  life ;  but  have  you  enough  real  sym- 
pathy for  my  afflictions  to  induce  you  to  make  an  effort  to 
relieve  them,  at  the  risk  of  a  little  discomfort  to  yourself  ?  ' 

'  Try  me,  and  see.' 

'  If  you  have,  never  mention  this  subject  again.  You 
cannot  recur  to  it  in  any  way  without  doubling  the  weight 
of  those  sufferings  you  so  feelingly  deplore.  I  have  nothing 
left  me  but  the  solace  of  a  good  conscience  and  a  hopeful 
trust  in  heaven,  and  you  labour  continually  to  rob  me  of 
these.  If  you  persist,  I  must  regard  you  as  my  deadliest  foe.' 

1  But  hear  me  a  moment 

'  No,  sir !  You  said  you  would  give  your  life  to  serve 
me;  I  only  ask  your  silence  on  one  particular  point.  I 
have  spoken  plainly ;  and  what  I  say  I  mean.  If  you  tor- 
ment me  in  this  way  any  more,  I  must  conclude  that  your 
protestations  are  entirely  false,  and  that  you  hate  me  in  your 
heart  as  fervently  as  you  profess  to  love  me  ! ' 

He  bit  his  lip,  and  bent  his  eyes  upon  the  ground  in 
silence  for  a  while. 

'  Then  I  must  leave  you,'  said  he  at  length,  looking 
steadily  upon  me,  as  if  with  the  last  hope  of  detecting  some 
token  of  irrepressible  anguish  or  dismay  awakened  by  those 
solemn  words.  '  I  must  leave  you.  I  cannot  live  here,  and 
be  for  ever  silent  on  the  all-absorbing  subject  of  my  thoughts 
and  wishes.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  341 

'  Formerly,  I  believe,  you  spent  but  little  of  your  time  at 
home,'  I  answered ;  '  it  will  do  you  no  harm  to  absent  your- 
self again,  for  a  while — if  that  be  really  necessary.' 

'  If  that  be  really  possible,'  he  muttered  ;  '  and  can  you 
bid  me  go  so  coolly  ?  Do  you  really  wish  it  ? ' 

'  Most  certainly  I  do.  If  you  cannot  see  me  without  tor- 
menting me  as  you  have  lately  done,  I  would  gladly  say 
farewell  and  never  see  you  more.' 

He  made  no  answer,  but,  bending  from  his  horse,  held 
out  his  hand  towards  me.  I  looked  up  at  his  face,  and  saw 
therein  such  a  look  of  genuine  agony  of  soul,  that,  whether 
bitter  disappointment,  or  wounded  pride,  or  lingering  love,  or 
burning  wrath  were  uppermost,  I  could  not  hesitate  to  put 
my  hand  in  his  as  frankly  as  if  I  bade  a  friend  farewell. 
He  grasped  it  very  hard,  and  immediately  put  spurs  to  his 
horse  and  galloped  away.  Very  soon  after,  I  learned  that  he 
was  gone  to  Paris,  where  he  still  is  ;  and  the  longer  he  stays 
there  the  better  for  me. 

I  thank  God  for  this  deliverance ! 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

DECEMBER  20rn,  1826. — The  fifth  anniversary  of  my  wedding- 
day,  and,  I  trust,  the  last  I  shall  spend  under  this  roof.  My 
resolution  is  formed,  my  plan  concocted,  and  already  partly 
put  in  execution.  My  conscience  does  not  blame  me,  but 
while  the  purpose  ripens  let  me  beguile  a  few  of  these  long 
winter  evenings  in  stating  the  case  for  my  own  satisfaction  : 
a  dreary  amusement  enough,  but  having  the  air  of  a  useful 
occupation,  and  being  pursued  as  a  task,  it  will  suit  me 
better  than  a  lighter  one. 

In  September,  quiet  Grassdale  was  again  alive  with  a 
party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  (so  called),  consisting  of  the 
same  individuals  as  those  invited  the  year  before  last,  with 
the  addition  of  two  or  three  others,  among  whom  were  Mrs. 
Hargrave  and  her  younger  daughter.  The  gentlemen  and 
Lady  Lowborough  were  invited  for  the  pleasure  and  con- 
venience of  the  host  ;  the  other  ladies,  I  suppose,  for  the 
sake  of  appearances,  and  to  keep  me  in  check,  and  make  me 
discreet  and  civil  in  my  demeanour.  But  the  ladies  stayed 
only  three  weeks ;  the  gentlemen,  with  two  exceptions,  above 
two  months :  for  their  hospitable  entertainer  was  loth  to 
part  with  them  and  be  left  alone  with  his  bright  intellect,  his 
stainless  conscience,  and  his  loved  and  loving  wife. 

On  the  day  of  Lady  Lowborough's  arrival,  I  followed  her 
into  her  chamber,  and  plainly  told  her  that,  if  I  found  reason 
to  believe  that  she  still  continued  her  criminal  connection 
with  Mr.  Huntingdon,  I  should  think  it  my  absolute  duty  to 
inform  her  husband  of  the  circumstance — or  awaken  his 
suspicions  at  least — however  painful  it  might  be,  or  how- 


WILDFELL  HALL  343 

ever  dreadful  the  consequences.  She  was  startled  at  first  by 
the  declaration,  so  unexpected,  and  so  determinately  yet 
calmly  delivered  ;  but  rallying  in  a  moment,  she  coolly 
replied  that,  if  I  saw  anything  at  all  reprehensible  or 
suspicious  in  her  conduct,  she  would  freely  give  me  leave  to 
tell  his  lordship  all  about  it.  Willing  to  be  satisfied  with 
this,  I  left  her;  and  certainly  I  saw  nothing  thenceforth 
particularly  reprehensible  or  suspicious  in  her  demeanour 
towards  her  host ;  but  then  I  had  the  other  guests  to  attend 
to,  and  I  did  not  watch  them  narrowly — for,  to  confess  the 
truth,  I  feared  to  see  anything  between  them.  I  no  longer 
regarded  it  as  any  concern  of  mine,  and  if  it  was  my  duty  to 
enlighten  Lord  Lowborough,  it  was  a  painful  duty,  and  I 
dreaded  to  be  called  to  perform  it. 

But  my  fears  were  brought  to  an  end  in  a  manner  I  had 
not  anticipated.  One  evening,  about  a  fortnight  after  the 
visitors'  arrival,  I  had  retired  into  the  library  to  snatch  a 
few  minutes'  respite  from  forced  cheerfulness  and  wearisome 
discourse,  for  after  so  long  a  period  of  seclusion,  dreary 
indeed  as  I  had  often  found  it,  I  could  not  always  bear 
to  be  doing  violence  to  my  feelings,  and  goading  my  powers 
to  talk,  and  smile  and  listen,  and  play  the  attentive  hostess, 
or  even  the  cheerful  friend :  I  had  just  ensconced  myself 
within  the  bow  of  the  window,  and  was  looking  out  upon  the 
west,  where  the  darkening  hills  rose  sharply  defined  against 
the  clear  amber  light  of  evening,  that  gradually  blended  and 
faded  away  into  the  pure,  pale  blue  of  the  upper  sky,  where 
one  bright  star  was  shining  through,  as  if  to  promise — 
'  When  that  dying  light  is  gone,  the  world  will  not  be  left  in 
darkness,  and  they  who  trust  in  God,  whose  minds  are  un- 
beclouded  by  the  mists  of  unbelief  and  sin,  are  never  wholly 
comfortless,' — when  I  heard  a  hurried  step  approaching,  and 
Lord  Lowborough  entered.  This  room  was  still  his 
favourite  resort.  He  flung  the  door  to  with  unusual  vio- 
lence, and  cast  his  hat  aside  regardless  where  it  fell.  What 
could  be  the  matter  with  him  ?  His  face  was  ghastly  pale  ; 
his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  ground ;  his  teeth  clenched :  his 


344  THE  TENANT  OF 

forehead  glistened  with  the  dews  of  agony.  It  was  plain  he 
knew  his  wrongs  at  last ! 

Unconscious  of  my  presence,  he  began  to  pace  the  room 
in  a  state  of  fearful  agitation,  violently  wringing  his  hands 
and  uttering  low  groans  or  incoherent  ejaculations.  I  made 
a  movement  to  let  him  know  that  he  was  not  alone  ;  but  he 
was  too  preoccupied  to  notice  it.  Perhaps,  while  his  back 
was  towards  me,  I  might  cross  the  room  and  slip  away  un- 
observed. I  rose  to  make  the  attempt,  but  then  he  per- 
ceived me.  He  started  and  stood  still  a  moment  ;  then 
wiped  his  streaming  forehead,  and,  advancing  towards  me, 
with  a  kind  of  unnatural  composure,  said  in  a  deep,  almost 
sepulchral  tone, — '  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  I  must  leave  you  to- 
morrow.' 

'  To-morrow  ! '  I  repeated.     '  I  do  not  ask  the  cause.' 

'  You  know  it  then,  and  you  can  be  so  calm ! '  said  he, 
surveying  me  with  profound  astonishment,  not  unmingled 
with  a  kind  of  resentful  bitterness,  as  it  appeared  to  me. 

1 1  have  so  long  been  aware  of '  I  paused  in  time, 

and  added,  '  of  my  husband's  character,  that  nothing 
shocks  me.' 

1  But  this — how  long  have  you  been  aware  of  this  ? ' 
demanded  he,  laying  his  clenched  hand  on  the  table  beside 
him,  and  looking  me  keenly  and  fixedly  in  the  face. 

I  felt  like  a  criminal. 

'  Not  long,'  I  answered. 

'  You  knew  it ! '  cried  he,  with  bitter  vehemence — '  and 
you  did  not  tell  me  !  You  helped  to  deceive  me ! ' 

'  My  lord,  I  did  not  help  to  deceive  you.' 

'  Then  why  did  you  not  tell  me  ? ' 

1  Because  I  knew  it  would  be  painful  to  you.  I  hoped 
she  would  return  to  her  duty,  and  then  there  would  be  no 
need  to  harrow  your  feelings  with  such ' 

'  O  God  !  how  long  has  this  been  going  on  ?  How  long 
has  it  been,  Mrs.  Huntingdon  ? — Tell  me — I  must  know  !  ' 
he  exclaimed,  with  intense  and  fearful  eagerness. 

'  Two  years,  I  believe.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  345 

'  Great  heaven !  and  she  has  duped  me  all  this  time ! ' 
He  turned  away  with  a  suppressed  groan  of  agony,  and 
paced  the  room  again  in  a  paroxysm  of  renewed  agitation. 
My  heart  smote  me  ;  but  I  would  try  to  console  him,  though 
I  knew  not  how  to  attempt  it. 

1  She  is  a  wicked  woman,'  I  said.  '  She  has  basely 
deceived  and  betrayed  you.  She  is  as  little  worthy  of  your 
regret  as  she  was  of  your  affection.  Let  her  injure  you  no 
further  ;  abstract  yourself  from  her,  and  stand  alone." 

'  And  you,  Madam,'  said  he  sternly,  arresting  himself,  and 
turning  round  upon  me,  '  you  have  injured  me  too  by  this 
ungenerous  concealment ! ' 

There  was  a  sudden  revulsion  in  my  feelings.  Something 
rose  within  me,  and  urged  me  to  resent  this  harsh  return  for 
my  heartfelt  sympathy,  and  defend  myself  with  answering 
severity.  Happily,  I  did  not  yield  to  the  impulse.  I  saw 
his  anguish  as,  suddenly  smiting  his  forehead,  he  turned 
abruptly  to  the  window,  and,  looking  upward  at  the  placid 
sky,  murmured  passionately,  '  O  God,  that  I  might  die  ! ' — 
and  felt  that  to  add  one  drop  of  bitterness  to  that  already 
overflowing  cup  would  be  ungenerous  indeed.  And  yet  I  fear 
there  was  more  coldness  than  gentleness  in  the  quiet  tone  of 
my  reply : — '  I  might  offer  many  excuses  that  some  would 
admit  to  be  valid,  but  I  will  not  attempt  to  enumerate 
them ' 

'  I  know  them,'  said  he  hastily :  '  you  would  say  that  it 
was  no  business  of  yours  :  that  I  ought  to  have  taken  care  of 
myself ;  that  if  my  own  blindness  has  led  me  into  this  pit  of 
hell,  I  have  no  right  to  blame  another  for  giving  me  credit 
for  a  larger  amount  of  sagacity  than  I  possessed — 

'  I  confess  I  was  wrong,'  continued  I,  without  regarding 
this  bitter  interruption ;  '  but  whether  want  of  courage  or 
mistaken  kindness  was  the  cause  of  my  error,  I  think  you 
blame  me  too  severely:  I  told  Lady  Lowborough  two  weeks 
ago,  the  very  hour  she  came,  that  I  should  certainly  think  it 
my  duty  to  inform  you  if  she  continued  to  deceive  you :  she 
gave  me  full  liberty  to  do  so  if  I  should  see  anything  repre- 


346  THE  TENANT  OF 

hensible  or  suspicious  in  her  conduct ;  I  have  seen  nothing ; 
and  I  trusted  she  had  altered  her  course.' 

He  continued  gazing  from  the  window  while  I  spoke,  and 
did  not  answer,  but,  stung  by  the  recollections  my  words 
awakened,  stamped  his  foot  upon  the  floor,  ground  his  teeth, 
and  corrugated  his  brow,  like  one  under  the  influence  of  acute 
physical  pain. 

'  It  was  wrong,  it  was  wrong ! '  he  muttered  at  length. 
1  Nothing  can  excuse  it ;  nothing  can  atone  for  it, — for  nothing 
can  recall  those  years  of  cursed  credulity ;  nothing  obliterate 
them  ! — nothing,  nothing ! '  he  repeated  in  a  whisper,  whose 
despairing  bitterness  precluded  all  resentment. 

'  When  I  put  the  case  to  myself,  I  own  it  was  wrong,'  I 
answered ;  '  but  I  can  only  now  regret  that  I  did  not  see  it  in 
this  light  before,  and  that,  as  you  say,  nothing  can  recall  the 
past.' 

Something  in  my  voice  or  in  the  spirit  of  this  answer 
seemed  to  alter  his  mood.  Turning  towards  me,  and  atten- 
tively surveying  my  face  by  the  dim  light,  he  said,  in  a  milder 
tone  than  he  had  yet  employed, — '  You,  too.  have  suffered,  I 
suppose.' 

'  I  suffered  much,  at  first.' 

'  When  was  that  ?  ' 

'  Two  years  ago  ;  and  two  years  hence  you  will  be  as  calm 
as  I  am  now,  and  far,  far  happier,  I  trust,  for  you  are  a  man, 
and  free  to  act  as  you  please.' 

Something  like  a  smile,  but  a  very  bitter  one,  crossed  his 
face  for  a  moment. 

1  You  have  not  been  happy,  lately  ?  '  he  said,  with  a  kind 
of  effort  to  regain  composure,  and  a  determination  to  waive 
the  further  discussion  of  his  own  calamity. 

'  Happy  ? '  I  repeated,  almost  provoked  at  such  a  question. 
1  Could  I  be  so,  with  such  a  "husband  ? ' 

'  I  have  noticed  a  change  in  your  ajDpearance  since  the 
first  years  of  your  marriage,'  pursued  he  :  '  I  observed  it  to — 
to  that  infernal  demon,'  he  muttered  between  his  teeth  ;  '  and 
he  said  it  was  your  own  sour  temper  that  was  eating  away 


WILDFELL  HALL  347 

your  bloom  :  it  was  making  you  old  and  ugly  before  your 
time,  and  had  already  made  his  fireside  as  comfortless  as  a 
convent  cell.  You  smile,  Mrs.  Huntingdon ;  nothing  moves 
you.  I  wish  my  nature  were  as  calm  as  yours.' 

'  My  nature  was  not  originally  calm,'  said  I.  '  I  have 
learned  to  appear  so  by  dint  of  hard  lessons  and  many 
repeated  efforts.' 

At  this  juncture  Mr.  Hattersley  burst  into  the  room. 

'  Hallo,  Lowborough  ! '  he  began — '  Oh  !  I  beg  your 
pardon,'  he  exclaimed  on  seeing  me.  '  I  didn't  know  it  was 
a  tete-a-tete.  Cheer  up,  man,'  he  continued,  giving  Lord 
Lowborough  a  thump  on  the  back,  which  caused  the  latter 
to  recoil  from  him  with  looks  of  ineffable  disgust  and  irrita- 
tion. '  Come,  I  want  to  speak  with  you  a  bit.' 

'  Speak,  then.' 

'  But  I'm  not  sure  it  would  be  quite  agreeable  to  the  lady 
what  I  have  to  say.' 

'  Then  it  would  not  be  agreeable  to  me,'  said  his  lordship, 
turning  to  leave  the  room. 

'  Yes,  it  would,'  cried  the  other,  following  him  into  the 
hall.  '  If  you've  the  heart  of  a  man,  it  would  be  the  very 
ticket  for  you.  It's  just  this,  my  lad,'  he  continued,  rather 
lowering  his  voice,  but  not  enough  to  prevent  me  from 
hearing  every  word  he  said,  though  the  half -closed  door  stood 
between  us.  'I  think  you're  an  ill-used  man — nay,  now, 
don't  flare  up ;  I  don't  want  to  offend  you :  it's  only  my  rough 
way  of  talking.  I  must  speak  right  out,  you  know,  or  else 
not  at  all ;  and  I'm  come — stop  now !  let  me  explain — I'm 
come  to  offer  you  my  services,  for  though  Huntingdon  is  my 
friend,  he's  a  devilish  scamp,  as  we  all  know,  and  I'll  be  your 
friend  for  the  nonce.  I  know  what  it  is  you  want,  to  make 
matters  straight :  it's  just  to  exchange  a  shot  with  him,  and 
then  you'll  feel  yourself  all  right  again ;  and  if  an  accident 
happens — why,  that'll  be  all  right  too,  I  daresay,  to  a  des- 
perate fellow  like  you.  Come  now,  give  me  your  hand,  and 
don't  look  so  black  upon  it.  Name  time  and  place,  and  I'll 
manage  the  rest.' 


348  THE   TENANT   OF 

'  That/  answered  the  more  low,  deliberate  voice  of  Lord 
Lowborough,  '  is  just  the  remedy  my  own  heart,  or  the  devil 
within  it,  suggested — to  meet  him,  and  not  to  part  without 
blood.  Whether  I  or  he  should  fall,  or  both,  it  would  be  an 
inexpressible  relief  to  me,  if — 

'  Just  so  !     Well  then,— 

'  No ! '  exclaimed  his  lordship,  with  deep,  determined 
emphasis.  '  Though  I  hate  him  from  my  heart,  and  should 
rejoice  at  any  calamity  that  could  befall  him,  I'll  leave  him 
to  God  ;  and  though  I  abhor  my  own  life,  I'll  leave  that,  too, 
to  Him  that  gave  it.' 

'  But  you  see,  in  this  case/  pleaded  Hattersley — 

1  I'll  not  hear  you ! '  exclaimed  his  companion,  hastily 
turning  away.  '  Not  another  word !  I've  enough  to  do 
against  the  fiend  within  me.' 

'  Then  you're  a  white-livered  fool,  and  I  wash  my  hands 
of  you/  grumbled  the  tempter,  as  he  swung  himself  round 
and  departed. 

'  Eight,  right,  Lord  Lowborough/  cried  I,  darting  out  and 
clasping  his  burning  hand,  as  he  was  moving  away  to  the 
stairs.  '  I  begin  to  think  the  world  is  not  worthy  of  you  ! ' 

Not  understanding  this  sudden  ebullition,  he  turned  upon 
me  with  a  stare  of  gloomy,  bewildered  amazement,  that 
made  me  ashamed  of  the  impulse  to  which  I  had  yielded  ; 
but  soon  a  more  humanised  expression  dawned  upon  his 
countenance,  and  before  I  could  withdraw  my  hand,  he 
pressed  it  kindly,  while  a  gleam  of  genuine  feeling  flashed 
from  his  eyes  as  he  murmured,  '  God  help  us  both  ! ' 

'  Amen  !  '  responded  I ;  and  we  parted. 

I  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  where,  doubtless,  my 
presence  would  be  expected  by  most,  desired  by  one  or  two. 
In  the  ante-room  was  Mr.  Hattersley,  railing  against  Lord 
Lowborough's  poltroonery  before  a  select  audience,  viz.  Mr. 
Huntingdon,  who  was  lounging  against  the  table,  exulting  in 
his  own  treacherous  villainy,  and  laughing  his  victim  to  scorn, 
and  Mr.  Grimsby,  standing  by,  quietly  rubbing  his  hands 
and  chuckling  with  fiendish  satisfaction. 


WILDFELL  HALL  349 

In  the  drawing-room  I  found  Lady  Lowborough,  evi- 
dently in  no  very  enviable  state  of  mind,  and  struggling  hard 
to  conceal  her  discomposure  by  an  overstrained  affectation  of 
unusual  cheerfulness  and  vivacity,  very  uncalled-for  under 
the  circumstances,  for  she>  had  herself  given  the  company 
to  understand  that  her  husband  had  received  unpleasant 
intelligence  from  home,  which  necessitated  his  immediate 
departure,  and  that  he  had  suffered  it  so  to  bother  his  mind 
that  it  had  brought  on  a  bilious  headache,  owing  to  which, 
and  the  preparations  he  judged  necessary  to  hasten  his  de- 
parture, she  believed  they  would  not  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  him  to-night.  However,  she  asserted,  it  was  only  a 
business  concern,  and  so  she  did  not  intend  it  should  trouble 
her.  She  was  just  saying  this  as  I  entered,  and  she  darted 
upon  me  such  a  glance  of  hardihood  and  defiance  as  at  once 
astonished  and  revolted  me. 

'  But  I  am  troubled,'  continued  she,  '  and  vexed  too,  for  I 
think  it  my  duty  to  accompany  his  lordship,  and  of  course  I 
am  very  sorry  to  part  with  all  my  kind  friends  so  unexpec- 
tedly and  so  soon.' 

'  And  yet,  Annabella/  said  Esther,  who  was  sitting 
beside  her,  '  I  never  saw  you  in  better  spirits  in  my  life.' 

'  Precisely  so,  my  love :  because  I  wish  to  make  the  best 
of  your  society,  since  it  appears  this  is  to  be  the  last  night  I 
am  to  enjoy  it  till  heaven  knows  when ;  and  I  wish  to  leave 
a  good  impression  on  you  all,' — she  glanced  round,  and 
seeing  her  aunt's  eye  fixed  upon  her,  rather  too  scrutinizingly, 
as  she  probably  thought,  she  started  up  and  continued :  '  To 
which  end  I'll  give  you  a  song — shall  I,  aunt  ?  shall  I,  Mrs. 
Huntingdon  ?  shall  I  ladies  and  gentlemen  all  ?  Very  well. 
I'll  do  my  best  to  amuse  you.' 

She  and  Lord  Lowborough  occupied  the  apartments  next 
to  mine.  I  know  not  how  she  passed  the  night,  but  I  lay 
awake  the  greater  part  of  it  listening  to  his  heavy  step  pacing 
monotonously  up  and  down  his  dressing-room,  which  was 
nearest  my  chamber.  Once  I  heard  him  pause  and  throw 
something  out  of  the  window  with  a  passionate  ejaculation ; 


350  THE  TENANT  OF 

and  in  the  morning,  after  they  were  gone,  a  keen-bladed 
clasp-knife  was  found  on  the  grass-plot  below;  a  razor, 
likewise,  was  snapped  in  two  and  thrust  deep  into  the  cinders 
of  the  grate,  but  partially  corroded  by  the  decaying  embers. 
So  strong  had  been  the  temptation  to  end  his  miserable  life, 
so  determined  his  resolution  to  resist  it. 

My  heart  bled  for  him  as  I  lay  listening  to  that  ceaseless 
tread.  Hitherto  I  had  thought  too  much  of  myself,  too  little 
of  him  :  now  I  forgot  my  own  afflictions,  and  thought  only 
of  his ;  of  the  ardent  affection  so  miserably  wasted,  the  fond 

faith  so  cruelly  betrayed,  the no,  I  will  not  attempt  to 

enumerate  his  wrongs — but  I  hated  his  wife  and  my  hus- 
band more  intensely  than  ever,  and  not  for  my  sake,  but  for 
his. 

They  departed  early  in  the  morning,  before  any  one  else 
was  down,  except  myself,  and  just  as  I  was  leaving  my  room 
Lord  Lowborough  was  descending  to  take  his  place  in  the 
carriage,  where  his  lady  was  already  ensconced ;  and  Arthur 
(or  Mr.  Huntingdon,  as  I  prefer  calling  him,  for  the  other  is 
my  child's  name)  had  the  gratuitous  insolence  to  come  out 
in  his  dressing-gown  to  bid  his  '  friend  '  good-by. 

'  What,  going  already,  Lowborough  ! '  said  he.  '  Well, 
good-morning.'  He  smilingly  offered  his  hand. 

I  think  the  other  would  have  knocked  him  down,  had  he 
not  instinctively  started  back  before  that  bony  fist  quiver- 
ing with  rage  and  clenched  till  the  knuckles  gleamed  white 
and  glistening  through  the  skin.  Looking  upon  him  with  a 
countenance  livid  with  furious  hate,  Lord  Lowborough 
muttered  between  his  closed  teeth  a  deadly  execration  he 
would  not  have  uttered  had  he  been  calm  enough  to  choose 
his  words,  and  departed. 

'  I  call  that  an  unchristian  spirit  now,'  said  the  villain. 
'  But  I'd  never  give-  up  an  old  friend  for  the  sake  of  a  wife. 
You  may  have  mine  if  you  like,  and  I  call  that  handsome ; 
I  can  do  no  more  than  offer  restitution,  can  I  ?  ' 

But  Lowborough  had  gained  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  and 
was  now  crossing  the  hall ;  and  Mr.  Huntingdon,  leaning 


WILDFELL  HALL  351 

over  the  banisters,  called  out,  '  Give  my  love  to  Annabella  ! 
and  I  wish  you  both  a  happy  journey,'  and  withdrew,  laugh- 
ing, to  his  chamber. 

He  subsequently  expressed  himself  rather  glad  she  was 
gone.  '  She  was  so  deuced  imperious  and  exacting,'  said  he. 
'  Now  I  shall  be  my  own  man  again,  and  feel  rather  more  at 
my  ease.' 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

MY  greatest  source  of  uneasiness,  in  this  time  of  trial,  was 
my  son,  whom  his  father  and  his  father's  friends  delighted  to 
encourage  in  all  the  embryo  vices  a  little  child  can  show,  and 
to  instruct  in  all  the  evil  habits  he  could  acquire — in  a  word, 
to  '  make  a  man  of  him '  was  one  of  their  staple  amusements  ; 
and  I  need  say  no  more  to  justify  my  alarm  on  his  account, 
and  my  determination  to  deliver  him  at  any  hazard  from  the 
hands  of  such  instructors.  I  first  attempted  to  keep  him 
always  with  me,  or  in  the  nursery,  and  gave  Eachel  particular 
injunctions  never  to  let  him  come  down  to  dessert  as  long  as 
these  '  gentlemen '  stayed  ;  but  it  was  no  use :  these  orders 
were  immediately  countermanded  and  overruled  by  his 
father ;  he  was  not  going  to  have  the  little  fellow  moped  to 
death  between  an  old  nurse  and  a  cursed  fool  of  a  mother.  So 
the  little  fellow  came  down  every  evening  in  spite  of  his  cross 
mamma,  and  learned  to  tipple  wine  like  papa,  to  swear  like 
Mr.  Hattersley,  and  to  have  his  own  way  like  a  man,  and 
sent  mamma  to  the  devil  when  she  tried  to  prevent  him.  To 
see  such  things  done  with  the  roguish  naivete1  of  that  pretty 
little  child,  and  hear  such  things  spoken  by  that  small  infan- 
tile voice,  was  as  peculiarly  piquant  and  irresistibly  droll  to 
them  as  it  was  inexpressibly  distressing  and  painful  to  me  ; 
and  when  he  had  set  the  table  in  a  roar  he  would  look  round 
delightedly  upon  them  all,  and  add  his  shrill  laugh  to  theirs. 
But  if  that  beaming  blue  eye  rested  on  me,  its  light  would 
vanish  for  a  moment,  and  he  would  say,  in  some  concern, 
'  Mamma,  why  don't  you  laugh  ?  Make  her  laugh,  papa — she 
never  will.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  353 

Hence  was  I  obliged  to  stay  among  these  human  brutes, 
watching  an  opportunity  to  get  my  child  away  from  them 
instead  of  leaving  them  immediately  after  the  removal  of  the 
cloth,  as  I  should  always  otherwise  have  done.  He  was 
never  willing  to  go,  and  I  frequently  had  to  carry  him  away 
by  force,  for  which  he  thought  me  very  cruel  and  unjust ; 
and  sometimes  his  father  would  insist  upon  my  letting  him 
remain ;  and  then  I  would  leave  him  to  his  kind  friends,  and 
retire  to  indulge  my  bitterness  and  despair  alone,  or  to  rack 
my  brains  for  a  remedy  to  this  great  evil. 

But  here  again  I  must  do  Mr.  Hargrave  the  justice  to 
acknowledge  that  I  never  saw  him  laugh  at  the  child's 
misdemeanours,  nor  heard  him  utter  a  word  of  encourage- 
ment to  his  aspirations  after  manly  accomplishments.  But 
when  anything  very  extraordinary  was  said  or  done  by  the 
infant  profligate,  I  noticed,  at  times,  a  peculiar  expression  in 
his  face  that  I  could  neither  interpret  nor  define  :  a  slight 
twitching  about  the  muscles  of  the  mouth ;  a  sudden  flash  in 
the  eye,  as  he  darted  a  sudden  glance  at  the  child  and  then 
at  me :  and  then  I  could  fancy  there  arose  a  gleam  of  hard, 
keen,  sombre  satisfaction  in  his  countenance  at  the  look  of 
impotent  wrath  and  anguish  he  was  too  certain  to  behold  in 
mine.  But  on  one  occasion,  when  Arthur  had  been  behaving 
particularly  ill,  and  Mr.  Huntingdon  and  his  guests  had  been 
particularly  provoking  and  insulting  to  me  in  their  encourage- 
ment of  him,  and  I  particularly  anxious  to  get  him  out  of  the 
room,  and  on  the  very  point  of  demeaning  myself  by  a  burst 
of  uncontrollable  passion — Mr.  Hargrave  suddenly  rose  from 
his  seat  with  an  aspect  of  stern  determination,  lifted  the 
child  from  his  father's  knee,  where  he  was  sitting  half-tipsy, 
cocking  his  head  and  laughing  at  me,  and  execrating  me 
with  words  he  little  knew  the  meaning  of,  handed  him  out 
of  the  room,  and,  setting  him  down  in  the  hall,  held  the 
door  open  for  me,  gravely  bowed  as  I  withdrew,  and  closed 
it  after  me.  I  heard  high  words  exchanged  between  him 
and  his  already  half-inebriated  host  as  I  departed,  leading 
away  my  bewildered  and  disconcerted  boy. 


354  THE  TENANT  Otf 

But  this  should  not  continue :  my  child  must  not  be 
abandoned  to  this  corruption  :  better  far  that  he  should  live 
in  poverty  and  obscurity,  with  a  fugitive  mother,  that  in 
luxury  and  affluence  with  such  a  father.  These  guests 
might  not  be  with  us  long,  but  they  would  return  again : 
and  he,  the  most  injurious  of  the  whole,  his  child's  worst 
enemy,  would  still  remain.  I  could  endure  it  for  myself, 
but  for  my  son  it  must  be  borne  no  longer :  the  world's 
opinion  and  the  feelings  of  my  friends  must  be  alike 
unheeded  here,  at  least — alike  unable  to  deter  me  from  my 
duty.  But  where  should  I  find  an  asylum,  and  how  obtain 
subsistence  for  us  both?  Oh,  I  would  take  my  precious 

charge  at  early  dawn,  take  the  coach  to  M ,  flee  to  the 

port  of ,  cross  the  Atlantic,  and  seek  a  quiet,  humble 

home  in  New  England,  where  I  would  support  myself  and 
him  by  the  labour  of  my  hands.  The  palette  and  the  easel, 
my  darling  playmates  once,  must  be  my  sober  toil-fellows 
now.  But  was  I  sufficiently  skilful  as  an  artist  to  obtain 
my  livelihood  in  a  strange  land,  without  friends  and  without 
recommendation  ?  No ;  I  must  wait  a  little  ;  I  must 
labour  hard  to  improve  my  talent,  and  to  produce  something 
worth  while  as  a  specimen  of  my  powers,  something  to 
speak  favourably  for  me,  whether  as  an  actual  painter  or  a 
teacher.  Brilliant  success,  of  course,  I  did  not  look  for,  but 
some  degree  of  security  from  positive  failure  was  indispens- 
able :  I  must  not  take  my  son  to  starve.  And  then  I  must 
have  money  for  the  journey,  the  passage,  and  some  little 
to  support  us  in  our  retreat  in  case  I  should  be  unsuccessful 
at  first :  and  not  too  little  either :  for  who  could  tell  how 
long  I  might  have  to  struggle  with  the  indifference  or  neglect 
of  others,  or  my  own  inexperience  or  inability  to  suit  their 
tastes  ? 

What  should  I  do  then  ?  Apply  to  my  brother  and 
explain  my  circumstances  and  my  resolves  to  him  ?  No,  no : 
even  if  I  told  him  all  my  grievances,  which  I  should  be  very 
reluctant  to  do,  he  would  be  certain  to  disapprove  of  the 
step  :  it  would  seem  like  madness  to  him,  as  it  would  to  my 


WILDFELL  HALL  355 

uncle  and  aunt,  or  to  Milicent.  No  ;  I  must  have  patience 
and  gather  a  hoard  of  my  own.  Eachel  should  be  my  only 
confidante — I  thought  I  could  persuade  her  into  the  scheme  ; 
and  she  should  help  me,  first,  to  find  out  a  picture-dealer  in 
some  distant  town ;  then,  through  her  means,  I  would 
privately  sell  what  pictures  I  had  on  hand  that  would  do  for 
such  a  purpose,  and  some  of  those  I  should  thereafter  paint. 
Besides  this,  I  would  contrive  to  dispose  of  my  jewels,  not 
the  family  jewels,  but  the  few  I  brought  with  me  from  home, 
and  those  my  uncle  gave  me  on  my  marriage.  A  few  months' 
arduous  toil  might  well  be  borne  by  me  with  such  an  end  in 
view ;  and  in  the  interim  my  son  could  not  be  much  more 
injured  than  he  was  already. 

Having  formed  this  resolution,  I  immediately  set  to  work 
to  accomplish  it.  I  might  possibly  have  been  induced  to 
wax  cool  upon  it  afterwards,  or  perhaps  to  keep  weighing 
the  pros  and  cons  in  my  mind  till  the  latter  overbalanced 
the  former,  and  I  was  driven  to  relinquish  the  project 
altogether,  or  delay  the  execution  of  it  to  an  indefinite  period, 
had  not  something  occurred  to  confirm  me  in  that  determina- 
tion, to  which  I  still  adhere,  which  I  still  think  I  did  well  to 
form,  and  shall  do  better  to  execute. 

Since  Lord  Lowborough's  departure  I  had  regarded  the 
library  as  entirely  my  own,  a  secure  retreat  at  all  hours  of 
the  day.  None  of  our  gentlemen  had  the  smallest  pretensions 
to  a  literary  taste,  except  Mr.  Hargrave ;  and  he,  at  present, 
was  quite  contented  with  the  newspapers  and  periodicals  of 
the  day.  And  if,  by  any  chance,  he  should  look  in  here,  I 
felt  assured  he  would  soon  depart  on  seeing  me,  for,  instead 
of  becoming  less  cool  and  distant  towards  me,  he  had 
become  decidedly  more  so  since  the  departure  of  his  mother 
and  sisters,  which  was  just  what  I  wished.  Here,  then,  I 
set  up  my  easel,  and  here  I  worked  at  my  canvas  from 
daylight  till  dusk,  with  very  little  intermission,  saving  when 
pure  necessity,  or  my  duties  to  little  Arthur,  called  me  away  : 
for  I  still  thought  proper  to  devote  some  portion  of  every 
day  exclusively  to  his  instruction  and  amusement.  But. 


35G  THE  TENANT  OF 

contrary  to  my  expectation,  on  the  third  morning,  while  I 
was  thus  employed,  Mr.  Hargrave  did  look  in,  and  did  not 
immediately  withdraw  on  seeing  me.  He  apologized  for  his 
intrusion,  and  said  he  was  only  come  for  a  book  ;  but  when 
he  had  got  it,  he  condescended  to  cast  a  glance  over  my 
picture.  Being  a  man  of  taste,  he  had  something  to  say  on 
this  subject  as  well  as  another,  and  having  modestly 
commented  on  it,  without  much  encouragement  from  me, 
he  proceeded  to  expatiate  on  the  art  in  general.  Eeceiving 
no  encouragement  in  that  either,  he  dropped  it,  but  did  not 
depart. 

'  You  don't  give  us  much  of  your  company,  Mrs. 
Huntingdon,'  observed  he,  after  a  brief  pause,  during  which 
I  went  on  coolly  mixing  and  tempering  my  colours  ;  '  and  I 
cannot  wonder  at  it,  for  you  must  be  heartily  sick  of  us  all. 
I  myself  am  so  thoroughly  ashamed  of  my  companions,  and 
so  weary  of  their  irrational  conversation  and  pursuits — now 
that  there  is  no  one  to  humanize  them  and  keep  them  in 
check,  since  you  have  justly  abandoned  us  to  our  own 
devices — that  I  think  I  shall  presently  withdraw  from 
amongst  them,  probably  within  this  week;  and  I  cannot 
suppose  you  will  regret  my  departure.' 

He  paused. .  I  did  not  answer. 

'  Probably,"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  '  your  only  regret  on 
the  subject  will  be  that  I  do  not  take  all  my  companions 
along  with  me.  I  flatter  myself,  at  times,  that  though 
among  them  I  am  not  of  them ;  but  it  is  natural  that  you 
should  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  me.  I  may  regret  this,  but  I 
cannot  blame  you  for  it.' 

'  I  shall  not  rejoice  at  your  departure,  for  you  can 
conduct  yourself  like  a  gentleman,'  said  I,  thinking  it  but 
right  to  make  some  acknowledgment  for  his  good  behaviour  ; 
'  but  I  must  confess  I  shall  rejoice  to  bid  adieu  to  the  rest, 
inhospitable  as  it  may  appear.' 

1  No  one  can  blame  you  for  such  an  avowal,'  replied  he 
gravely :  '  not  even  the  gentlemen  themselves,  I  imagine. 
I'll  just  tell  you,'  he  continued,  as  if  actuated  by  a  sudden 


WILDFELL  HALL  357 

resolution,  'what  was  said  last  night  in  the  dining-room^ 
after  you  left  us  :  perhaps  you  will  not  mind  it,  as  you're 
so  very  philosophical  on  certain  points,'  he  added  with  a 
slight  sneer.  '  They  were  talking  about  Lord  Lowborough 
and  his  delectable  lady,  the  cause  of  whose  sudden  departure 
is  no  secret  amongst  them  ;  and  her  character  is  so  well 
known  to  them  all,  that,  nearly  related  to  me  as  she  is,  I 
could  not  attempt  to  defend  it.  Curse  me ! '  he  muttered, 
par  parenthese,  '  if  I  don't  have  vengeance  for  this  !  If  the 
villain  must  disgrace  the  family,  must  he  blazon  it  abroad  to 
every  low-bred  knave  of  his  acquaintance  ?  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mrs.  Huntingdon.  Well,  they  were  talking  of  these 
things,  and  some  of  them  remarked  that,  as  she  was 
separated  from  her  husband,  he  might  see  her  again  when  he 
pleased.' 

'  "  Thank  you,"  said  he ;  "  I've  had  enough  of  her  for  the 
present :  I'll  not  trouble  to  see  her,  unless  she  comes  to  me." 

'  "  Then  what  do  you  mean  to  do,  Huntingdon,  when 
we're  gone?"  said  Ealph  Hattersley.  "Do  you  mean  to 
turn  from  the  error  of  your  ways,  and  be  a  good  husband,  a 
good  father,  and  so  forth ;  as  I  do,  when  I  get  shut  of  you 
and  all  these  rollicking  devils  you  call  your  friends  ?  I 
think  it's  time ;  and  your  wife  is  fifty  times  too  good  for  you, 
you  know " 

'  And  he  added  some  praise  of  you,  which  you  would  not 
thank  me  for  repeating,  nor  him  for  uttering  ;  proclaiming 
it  aloud,  as  he  did,  without  delicacy  or  discrimination,  in  an 
audience  where  it  seemed  profanation  to  utter  your  name : 
himself  utterly  incapable  of  understanding  or  appreciating 
your  real  excellences.  Huntingdon,  meanwhile,  sat  quietly 
drinking  his  wine,  or  looking  smilingly  into  his  glass  and 
offering  no  interruption  or  reply,  till  Hattersley  shouted  out, 
— "  Do  you  hear  me,  man  ?  " 

1  "  Yes,  go  on,"  said  he. 

' "  Nay,  I've  done,"  replied  the  other :  "  I  only  want  to 
know  if  you  intend  to  take  my  advice." 

'"What  advice?" 


358  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  "  To  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  you  double-dyed  scoundrel," 
shouted  Ealph,  "  and  beg  your  wife's  pardon,  and  be  a  good 
boy  for  the  future." 

' "  My  wife !  what  wife  ?  I  have  no  wife,"  replied 
Huntingdon,  looking  innocently  up  from  his  glass,  "  or  if  I 
have,  look  you,  gentlemen :  I  value  her  so  highly  that  any 
one  among  you,  that  can  fancy  her,  may  have  her  and 
welcome :  you  may,  by  Jove,  and  my  blessing  into  the 
bargain  ! " 

'I — hem — someone  asked  if  he  really  meant  what  he 
said  ;  upon  which  he  solemnly  swore  he  did,  and  no  mistake. 
What  do  you  think  of  that,  Mrs.  Huntingdon  ? '  asked  Mr. 
Hargrave,  after  a  short  pause,  during  which  I  had  felt  he  was 
keenly  examining  my  half-averted  face. 

'  I  say,'  replied  I,  calmly,  '  that  what  he  prizes  so  lightly 
will  not  be  long  in  his  possession.' 

'  You  cannot  mean  that  you  will  break  your  heart  and 
die  for  the  detestable  conduct  of  an  infamous  villain  like 
that ! ' 

'  By  no  means :  my  heart  is  too  thoroughly  dried  to  be 
broken  in  a  hurry,  and  I  mean  to  live  as  long  as  I  can.' 

'  Will  you  leave  him  then  ? ' 

'Yes.' 

'  When :  and  how  ? '  asked  he,  eagerly. 

'When  I  am  ready,  and  how  I  can  manage  it  most 
effectually.' 

'  But  your  child  ? ' 

'  My  child  goes  with  me.' 

'  He  will  not  allow  it.' 

'  I  shall  not  ask  him.' 

'  Ah,  then,  it  is  a  secret  flight  you  meditate !  but  with 
whom,  Mrs.  Huntingdon  ?  ' 

'  With  my  son  :  and  possibly,  his  nurse.' 

'  Alone — and  unprotected !  But  where  can  you  go  ?  what 
can  you  do?  He  will  follow  you  and  bring  you  back.' 

'  I  have  laid  my  plans  too  well  for  that.  Let  me  once 
get  clear  of  Grassdale,  and  I  shall  consider  myself  safe.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  359 

Mr.  Hargrave  advanced  one  step  towards  me,  looked  me 
in  the  face,  and  drew  in  his  breath  to  speak ;  but  that  look,  that 
heightened  colour,  that  sudden  sparkle  of  the  eye,  made  my 
blood  rise  in  wrath :  I  abruptly  turned  away,  and,  snatching 
up  my  brush,  began  to  dash  away  at  my  canvas  with  rather 
too  much  energy  for  the  good  of  the  picture. 

'  Mrs.  Huntingdon,'  said  he  with  bitter  solemnity,  '  you 
are  cruel — cruel  to  me — cruel  to  yourself." 

I  Mr.  Hargrave,  remember  your  promise.' 

'  I  must  speak  :  my  heart  will  burst  if  I  don't !  I  have 
been  silent  long  enough,  and  you  must  hear  me  ! '  cried  he, 
boldly  intercepting  my  retreat  to  the  door.  '  You  tell  me  you 
owe  no  allegiance  to  your  husband  ;  he  openly  declares  him- 
self weary  of  you,  and  calmly  gives  you  up  to  anybody  that 
will  take  you ;  you  are  about  to  leave  him ;  no  one  will  believe 
that  you  go  alone ;  all  the  world  will  say,  "  She  has  left  him 
at  last,  and  who  can  wonder  at  it  ?  Few  can  blame  her, 
fewer  still  can  pity  him  ;  but  who  is  the  companion  of  her 
flight?"  Thus  you  will  have  no  credit  for  your  virtue  (if 
you  call  it  such  :  even  your  best  friends  will  not  believe  in 
it ;  because  it  is  monstrous,  and  not  to  be  credited  but  by 
those  who  suffer,  from  the  effects  of  it,  such  cruel  torments 
that  they  know  it  to  be  indeed  reality.  But  what  can  you  do 
in  the  cold,  rough  world  alone  ?  you,  a  young  and  inexperi- 
enced woman,  delicately  nurtured,  and  utterly ' 

'  In  a  word,  you  would  advise  me  to  stay  where  I  am,' 
interrupted  I.  '  Well,  I'll  see  about  it.' 

'  By  all  means,  leave  him ! '  cried  he  earnestly ;  '  but  NOT 
alone  !  Helen !  let  me  protect  you  ! ' 

'Never!  while  heaven  spares  my  reason,'  replied  I, 
snatching  away  the  hand  he  had  presumed  to  seize  and  press 
between  his  own.  But  he  was  in  for  it  now ;  he  had  fairly 
broken  the  barrier :  he  was  completely  roused,  and  determined 
to  hazard  all  for  victory. 

I 1  must  not  be  denied ! '  exclaimed  he,  vehemently ;  and 
seizing  both  my  hands,  he  held  them  very  tight,  but  dropped 
upon   his  knee,   and   looked   up   in   my   face  with  a  half- 


360  THE   TENANT   OF 

imploring,  half-imperious  gaze.  '  You  have  no  reason  now  : 
you  are  flying  in  the  face  of  heaven's  decrees.  God  has 
designed  me  to  be  your  comfort  and  protector — I  feel  it,  I 
know  it  as  certainly  as  if  a  voice  from  heaven  declared,  "  Ye 
twain  shall  be  one  flesh  " — and  you  spurn  me  from  you — 

'  Let  me  go,  Mr.  Hargrave ! '  said  I,  sternly.  But  he  only 
tightened  his  grasp. 

'  Let  me  go  ! '  I  repeated,  quivering  with  indignation. 

His  face  was  almost  opposite  the  window  as  he  knelt. 
With  a  slight  start,  I  saw  him  glance  towards  it ;  and  then 
a  gleam  of  malicious  triumph  lit  up  his  countenance.  Looking 
over  my  shoulder,  I  beheld  a  shadow  just  retiring  round  the 
corner. 

'  That  is  Grimsby,'  said  he  deliberately.  '  He  will  report 
what  he  has  seen  to  Huntingdon  and  all  the  rest,  with  such 
embellishments  as  bethinks  proper.  He  has  no  love  for  you, 
Mrs.  Huntingdon — no  reverence  for  your  sex,  no  belief  in 
virtue,  no  admiration  for  its  image.  He  will  give  such  a 
version  of  this  story  as  will  leave  no  doubt  at  all  about  your 
character,  in  the  minds  of  those  who  hear  it.  Your  fair  fame 
is  gone  ;  and  nothing  that  I  or  you  can  say  can  ever  retrieve 
it.  But  give  me  the  power  to  protect  you,  and  show  me  the 
villain  that  dares  to  insult ! ' 

1  No  one  has  ever  dared  to  insult  me  as  you  are  doing 
now ! '  said  I,  at  length  releasing  my  hands,  and  recoiling 
from  him. 

'  I  do  not  insult  you,'  cried  he :  '  I  worship  you.  You 
are  my  angel,  my  divinity !  I  lay  my  powers  at  your  feet, 
and  you  must  and  shall  accept  them ! '  he  exclaimed, 
impetuously  starting  to  his  feet.  '  I  will  be  your  consoler 
and  defender  !  and  if  your  conscience  upbraid  you  for  it,  say 
I  overcame  you,  and  you  could  not  choose  but  yield  ! ' 

I  never  saw  a  man  so  terribly  excited.  He  precipiiited 
himself  towards  me.  I  snatched  up  my  palette-knife  and 
held  it  against  him.  This  startled  him  :  he  stood  and  gazed 
at  me  in  astonishment ;  I  daresay  I  looked  as  fierce  and 
resolute  as  he.  I  moved  to  the  bell,  and  put  my  hand  upon 


WILDFELL  HALL  361 

the  cord.  This  tamed  him  still  more.  With  a  half-autho- 
ritative, half -deprecating  wave  of  the  hand,  he  sought  to  deter 
me  from  ringing. 

'  Stand  off,  then  ! '  said  I ;  he  stepped  back.  '  And  listen 
to  me.  I  don't  like  you/  I  continued,  as  deliberately  and 
emphatically  as  I  could,  to  give  the  greater  efficacy  to  my 
words  ;  '  and  if  I  were  divorced  from  my  husband,  or  if  he 
were  dead,  I  would  not  marry  you.  There  now  !  I  hope 
you're  satisfied.' 

His  face  grew  blanched  with  anger. 

'  I  am  satisfied,'  he  replied,  with  bitter  emphasis,  '  that 
you  are  the  most  cold-hearted,  unnatural,  ungrateful  woman 
I  ever  yet  beheld  ! ' 

'Ungrateful,  sir?' 

'  Ungrateful.' 

'  No,  Mr.  Hargrave,  I  am  not.  For  all  the  good  you  ever 
did  me,  or  ever  wished  to  do,  I  most  sincerely  thank  you  :  for 
all  the  evil  you  have  done  me,  and  all  you  would  have  done, 
I  pray  God  to  pardon  you,  and  make  you  of  a  better  mind.' 

Here  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Messrs.  Huntingdon 
and  Hattersley  appeared  without.  The  latter  remained  in 
the  hall,  busy  with  his  ramrod  and  his  gun;  the  former 
walked  in,  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  surveying  Mr. 
Hargrave  and  me,  particularly  the  former,  with  a  smile  of 
insupportable  meaning,  accompanied  as  it  was  by  the 
impudence  of  his  brazen  brow,  and  the  sly,  malicious,  twinkle 
of  his  eye. 

'  Well,  sir  ? '  said  Hargrave,  interrogatively,  and  with  the 
air  of  one  prepared  to  stand  on  the  defensive. 

'  Well,  sir,'  returned  his  host. 

'  We  want  to  know  if  you  are  at  liberty  to  join  us  in  a  go 
at  the  pheasants,  Walter,'  interposed  Hattersley  from  without. 
1  Come  !  there  shall  be  nothing  shot  besides,  except  a  puss 
or  two  ;  I'll  vouch  for  that.' 

Walter  did  not  answer,  but  walked  to  the  window  to 
collect  his  faculties.  Arthur  uttered  a  low  whistle,  and 
followed  him  with  his  eyes.  A  slight  flush  of  anger  rose  to 


362  THE  TENANT  OF 

Hargrave's  cheek  ;  but  in  a  moment  he  turned  calmly  round, 
and  said  carelessly : 

'  I  came  here  to  bid  farewell  to  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  and 
tell  her  I  must  go  to-morrow.' 

'  Humph !  You're  mighty  sudden  in  your  resolution. 
What  takes  you  off  so  soon,  may  I  ask  ? ' 

1  Business,'  returned  he,  repelling  the  other's  incredulous 
sneer  with  a  glance  of  scornful  defiance. 

'  Very  good,'  was  the  reply  ;  and  Hargrave  walked  away. 
Thereupon  Mr.  Huntingdon,  gathering  his  coat-laps  under 
his  arms,  and  setting  his  shoulder  against  the  mantel-piece, 
turned  to  me,  and,  addressing  me  in  a  low  voice,  scarcely 
above  his  breath,  poured  forth  a  volley  of  the  vilest  and 
grossest  abuse  it  was  possible  for  the  imagination  to  conceive 
or  the  tongue  to  utter.  I  did  not  attempt  to  interrupt  him  ; 
but  my  spirit  kindled  within  me,  and  when  he  had  done,  I 
replied,  '  If  your  accusation  were  true,  Mr.  Huntingdon,  how 
dare  you  blame  me  ?  ' 

'  She's  hit  it,  by  Jove  ! '  cried  Hattersley,  rearing  his  gun 
against  the  wall ;  and,  stepping  into  the  room,  he  took  his 
precious  friend  by  the  arm,  and  attempted  to  drag  him  away. 
'  Come,  my  lad,'  he  muttered ;  '  true  or  false,  you've  no  right  to 
blame  her,  you  know,  nor  him  either ;  after  what  you  said 
last  night.  So  come  along.' 

There  was  something  implied  here  that  I  could  not  endure. 

1  Dare  you  suspect  me,  Mr.  Hattersley  ? '  said  I,  almost 
beside  myself  with  fury. 

'  Nay,  nay,  I  suspect  nobody.  It's  all  right,  it's  all  right. 
So  come  along,  Huntingdon,  you  blackguard.' 

'  She  can't  deny  it ! '  cried  the  gentleman  thus  addressed, 
grinning  in  mingled  rage  and  triumph.  '  She  can't  deny  it 
if  her  life  depended  on  it ! '  and  muttering  some  more  abusive 
language,  he  walked  into  the  hall,  and  took  up  his  hat  and 
gun  from  the  table. 

'  I  scorn  to  justify  myself  to  you  ! '  said  I.  '  But  you/ 
turning  to  Hattersley,  '  if  you  presume  to  have  any  doubts 
on  the  subject,  ask  Mr.  Hargrave,' 


WILDFELL  HALL  363 

At  this  they  simultaneously  burst  into  a  rude  laugh  that 
made  my  whole  frame  tingle  to  the  fingers'  ends. 

1  Where  is  he  ?  I'll  ask  him  myself ! '  said  I,  advancing 
towards  them. 

Suppressing  a  new  burst  of  merriment,  Hattersley  pointed 
to  the  outer  door.  It  was  half  open.  His  brother-in-law 
was  standing  on  the  front  without. 

'  Mr.  Hargrave,  will  you  please  to  step  this  way  ?  '  said  I. 

He  turned  and  looked  at  me  in  grave  surprise. 

'  Step  this  way,  if  you  please ! '  I  repeated,  in  so 
determined  a  manner  that  he  could  not,  or  did  not  choose 
to  resist  its  authority.  Somewhat  reluctantly  he  ascended 
the  steps  and  advanced  a  pace  or  two  into  the  hall. 

'  And  tell  those  gentlemen,'  I  continued — '  these  men, 
whether  or  not  I  yielded  to  your  solicitations.' 

'  I  don't  understand  you,  Mrs.  Huntingdon.' 

'  You  do  understand  me,  sir ;  and  I  charge  you,  upon 
your  honour  as  a  gentleman  (if  you  have  any),  to  answer 
truly.  Did  I,  or  did  I  not  ? ' 

'No,'  muttered  he,  turning  away. 

'  Speak  up,  sir ;  they  can't  hear  you.  Did  I  grant  your 
request  ? ' 

'  You  did  not.' 

'  No,  I'll  be  sworn  she  didn't,'  said  Hattersley,  '  or  he'd 
never  look  so  black.' 

'  I'm  willing  to  grant  you  the  satisfaction  of  a  gentleman, 
Huntingdon,'  said  Mr.  Hargrave,  calmly  addressing  his  host, 
bnt  with  a  bitter  sneer  upon  his  countenance. 

'  Go  to  the  deuce  ! '  replied  the  latter,  with  an  impatient 
jerk  of  the  head.  Hargrave  withdrew  with  a  look  of  cold 
disdain,  saying, — '  You  know  where  to  find  me,  should  you 
feel  disposed  to  send  a  friend.' 

Muttered  oaths  and  curses  were  all  the  answer  this  intima- 
tion obtained. 

'  Now,  Huntingdon,  you  see ! '  said  Hattersley.  '  Clear  as 
the  day.' 

'  I  don't  care  what  he  sees,'  said  I, '  or  what  he  imagines  ; 


364  THE  TENANT  OF 

but  you,  Mr.  Hattersley,  when  you  hear  my  name  belied  and 
slandered,  will  you  defend  it?' 

•  I  will.' 

I  instantly  departed  and  shut  myself  into  the  library. 
What  could  possess  me  to  make  such  a  request  of  such  a 
man  I  cannot  tell ;  but  drowning  men  catch  at  straws :  they 
had  driven  me  desperate  between  them  ;  I  hardly  knew  what 
I  said.  There  was  no  other  to  preserve  my  name  from 
being  blackened  and  aspersed  among  this  nest  of  boon 
companions,  and  through  them,  perhaps,  into  the  world ;  and 
beside  my  abandoned  wretch  of  a  husband,  the  base,  malig- 
nant Grimsby,  and  the  false  villain  Hargrave,  this  boorish 
ruffian,  coarse  and  brutal  as  he  was,  shone  like  a  glow-worm 
in  the  dark,  among  its  fellow  worms. 

What  a  scene  was  this !  Could  I  ever  have  imagined 
that  I  should  be  doomed  to  bear  such  insults  under  my  own 
roof — to  hear  such  things  spoken  in  my  presence ;  nay, 
spoken  to  me  and  of  me ;  and  by  those  who  arrogated  to 
themselves  the  name  of  gentlemen?  And  could  I  have 
imagined  that  I  should  have  been  able  to  endure  it  as 
calmly,  and  to  repel  their  insults  as  firmly  and  as  boldly  as 
I  had  done  ?  A  hardness  such  as  this  is  taught  by  rough 
experience  and  despair  alone. 

Such  thoughts  as  these  chased  one  another  through  my 
mind,  as  I  paced  to  and  fro  the  room,  and  longed— oh,  how 
I  longed — to  take  my  child  and  leave  them  now,  without  an 
hour's  delay  !  But  it  could  not  be ;  there  was  work  before 
me  :  hard  work,  that  must  be  done. 

'  Then  let  me  do  it,'  said  I,  '  and  lose  not  a  moment  in 
vain  repinings  and  idle  chafings  against  my  fate,  and  those 
who  influence  it.' 

And  conquering  my  agitation  with  a  powerful  effort,  I 
immediately  resumed  my  task,  and  laboured  hard  all  day. 

Mr.  Hargrave  did  depart  on  the  morrow ;  and  I  have  never 
seen  him  since.  The  others  stayed  on  for  two  or  three  weeks 
longer ;  but  I  kept  aloof  from  them  as  much  as  possible,  and 
still  continued  my  labour,  and  have  continued  it,  with  almost 


WILDFELL   HALL  365 

unabated  ardour,  to  the  present  day.  I  soon  acquainted 
Eachel  with  my  design,  confiding  all  my  motives  and  inten- 
tions to  her  ear,  and,  much  to  my  agreeable  surprise,  found 
little  difficulty  in  persuading  her  to  enter  into  my  views. 
She  is  a  sober,  cautious  woman,  but  she  so  hates  her  master, 
and  so  loves  her  mistress  and  her  nursling,  that  after  several 
ejaculations,  a  few  faint  objections,  and  many  tears  and 
lamentations  that  I  should  be  brought  to  such  a  pass,  she 
applauded  my  resolution  and  consented  to  aid  me  with  all 
her  might :  on  one  condition  only :  that  she  might  share  my 
exile  :  otherwise,  she  was  utterly  inexorable,  regarding  it  as 
perfect  madness  for  me  and  Arthur  to  go  alone.  With 
touching  generosity,  she  modestly  offered  to  aid  me  with  her 
little  hoard  of  savings,  hoping  I  would  '  excuse  her  for  the 
liberty,  but  really,  if  I  would  do  her  the  favour  to  accept  it 
as  a  loan,  she  would  be  very  happy.'  Of  course  I  could  not 
think  of  such  a  thing ;  but  now,  thank  heaven,  I  have 
gathered  a  little  hoard  of  my  own,  and  my  preparations  are 
so  far  advanced  that  I  am  looking  forward  to  a  speedy 
emancipation.  Only  let  the  stormy  severity  of  this  winter 
weather  be  somewhat  abated,  and  then,  some  morning, 
Mr.  Huntingdon  will  come  down  to  a  solitary  breakfast- 
table,  and  perhaps  be  clamouring  through  the  house  for  his 
invisible  wife  and  child,  when  they  are  some  fifty  miles  on 
their  way  to  the  Western  world,  or  it  may  be  more  :  for  we 
shall  leave  him  hours  before  the  dawn,  and  it  is  not  probable 
he  will  discover  the  loss  of  both  until  the  day  is  far  advanced. 

I  am  fully  alive  to  the  evils  that  may  and  must  result 
upon  the  step  I  am  about  to  take  ;  but  I  never  waver  in  my 
resolution,  because  I  never  forget  my  son.  It  was  only  this 
morning,  while  I  pursued  my  usual  employment,  he  was 
sitting  at  my  feet,  quietly  playing  with  the  shreds  of  canvas 
I  had  thrown  upon  the  carpet ;  but  his  mind  was  otherwise 
occupied,  for,  in  a  while,  he  looked  up  wistfully  in  my  face, 
and  gravely  asked, — '  Mamma,  why  are  you  wicked  ?  ' 

'  Who  told  you  I  was  wicked,  love  ? ' 

'  Eachel.' 


366  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  No,  Arthur,  Eachel  never  said  so,  I  am  certain.' 

'  Well,  then,  it  was  papa,'  replied  he,  thoughtfully.  Then, 
after  a  reflective  pause,  he  added,  '  At  least,  I'll  tell  you  how 
it  was  I  got  to  know :  when  I'm  with  papa,  if  I  say  mamma 
wants  me,  or  mamma  says  I'm  not  to  do  something  that  he 
tells  me  to  do,  he  always  says,  "  Mamma  be  damned,"  and 
Eachel  says  it's  only  wicked  people  that  are  damned.  So, 
mamma,  that's  why  I  think  you  must  be  wicked  :  and  I 
wish  you  wouldn't.' 

'My  dear  child,  I  am  not.  Those  are  bad  words,  and 
wicked  people  often  say  them  of  others  better  than  them- 
selves. Those  words  cannot  make  people  be  damned,  nor 
show  that  they  deserve  it.  God  will  judge  us  by  our  own 
thoughts  and  deeds,  not  by  what  others  say  about  us.  And 
when  you  hear  such  words  spoken,  Arthur,  remember  never 
to  repeat  them  :  it  is  wicked  to  say  such  things  of  others,  not 
to  have  them  said  against  you.' 

'  Then  it's  papa  that's  wicked,'  said  he,  ruefully. 

'  Papa  is  wrong  to  say  such  things,  and  you  will  be  very 
wrong  to  imitate  him  now  that  you  know  better.' 

'  What  is  imitate  ? ' 

'  To  do  as  he  does.' 

'  Does  he  know  better  ? ' 

'  Perhaps  he  does  ;  but  that  is  nothing  to  you.' 

'  If  he  doesn't,  you  ought  to  tell  him,  mamma.' 

'  I  have  told  him.' 

The  little  moralist  paused  and  pondered.  I  tried  in  vain 
to  divert  his  mind  from  the  subject. 

'  I'm  sorry  papa's  wicked,'  said  he  mournfully,  at  length, 
'  for  I  don't  want  him  to  go  to  hell.'  And  so  saying  he 
burst  into  tears. 

I  consoled  him  with  the  hope  that  perhaps  his  papa  would 

alter  and  become  good  before  he  died ;  but  is  it  not  time 

to  deliver  him  from  such  a  parent  ? 


CHAPTEE  XL 

JANUARY  10TH,  1827. — While  writing  the  above,  yesterday 
evening,  I  sat  in  the  drawing-room.  Mr.  Huntingdon  was 
present,  but,  as  I  thought,  asleep  on  the  sofa  behind  me. 
He  had  risen,  however,  unknown  to  me,  and,  actuated  by 
some  base  spirit  of  curiosity,  been  looking  over  my  shoulder 
for  I  know  not  how  long ;  for  when  I  had  laid  aside  my  pen, 
and  was  about  to  close  the  book,  he  suddenly  placed  his  hand 
upon  it,  and  saying, — '  With  your  leave,  my  dear,  I'll  have  a 
look  at  this,'  forcibly  wrested  it  from  me,  and,  drawing  a  chair 
to  the  table,  composedly  sat  down  to  examine  it :  turning 
back  leaf  after  leaf  to  find  an  explanation  of  what  he  had 
read.  Unluckily  for  me,  he  was  more  sober  that  night  than 
he  usually  is  at  such  an  hour. 

Of  course  I  did  not  leave  him  to  pursue  this  occupation 
in  quiet :  I  made  several  attempts  to  snatch  the  book  from 
his  hands,  but  he  held  it  too  firmly  for  that ;  I  upbraided  him  in 
bitterness  and  scorn  for  his  mean  and  dishonourable  conduct, 
but  that  had  no  effect  upon  him  ;  and,  finally,  I  extinguished 
bqth  the  candles,  but  he  only  wheeled  round  to  the  fire,  and 
raising  a  blaze  sufficient  for  his  purposes,  calmly  continued 
the  investigation.  I  had  serious  thoughts  of  getting  a  pitcher 
of  water  and  extinguishing  that  light  too ;  but  it  was  evident 
his  curiosity  was  too  keenly  excited  to  be  quenched  by  that, 
and  the  more  I  manifested  my  anxiety  to  baffle  his  scrutiny, 
the  greater  would  be  his  determination  to  persist  in  it  : 
besides  it  was  too  late. 

'  It  seems  very  interesting,  love,'  said  he,  lifting  his  head 
and  turning  to  where  I  stood,  wringing  my  hands  in  silent 


368  THE   TENANT  OF 

rage  and  anguish  ;  '  but  it's  rather  long  ;  I'll  look  at  it  some 
other  time ;  and  meanwhile  I'll  trouble  you  for  your  keys, 
my  dear.' 

'  What  keys  ? ' 

'  The  keys  of  your  cabinet,  desk,  drawers,  and  whatever 
else  you  possess,'  said  he,  rising  and  holding  out  his  hand. 

'  I've  not  got  them,'  I  replied.  The  key  of  my  desk,  in 
fact,  was  at  that  moment  in  the  lock,  and  the  others  were 
attached  to  it. 

'  Then  you  must  send  for  them,'  said  he ;  '  and  if  that 
old  devil,  Eachel,  doesn't  immediately  deliver  them  up,  she 
tramps  bag  and  baggage  to-morrow.' 

'  She  doesn't  know  where  they  are,'  I  answered,  quietly 
placing  my  hand  upon  them,  and  taking  them  from  the  desk, 
as  I  thought,  unobserved.  'I  know,  but  I  shall  not  give 
them  up  without  a  reason.' 

'  And  I  know,  too,'  said  he,  suddenly  seizing  my  closed 
hand  and  rudely  abstracting  them  from  it.  He  then  took  up 
one  of  the  candles  and  relighted  it  by  thrusting  it  into  the  fire. 

'  Now,  then,'  sneered  he,  '  we  must  have  a  confiscation  of 
property.  But,  first,  let  us  take  a  peep  into  the  studio.' 

And  putting  the  keys  into  his  pocket,  he  walked  into  the 
library.  I  followed,  whether  with  the  dim  idea  of  preventing 
mischief,  or  only  to  know  the  worst,  I  can  hardly  tell.  My 
painting  materials  were  laid  together  on  the  corner  table, 
ready  for  to-morrow's  use,  and  only  covered  with  a  cloth. 
He  soon  spied  them  out,  and  putting  down  the  candle, 
deliberately  proceeded  to  cast  them  into  the  fire  :  paletye, 
paints,  bladders,  pencils,  brushes,  varnish :  I  saw  them  all 
consumed  :  the  palette-knives  snapped  in  two,  the  oil  and 
turpentine  sent  hissing  and  roaring  up  the  chimney.  He 
then  rang  the  bell. 

'  Benson,  take  those  things  away,'  said  he,  pointing  to  the 
easel,  canvas,  and  stretcher ;  and  tell  the  housemaid  she  may 
kindle  the  fire  with  them :  your  mistress  won't  want  them 
any  more.' 

Benson  paused  aghast  and  looked  at  me. 


WILDFELL  HALL  369 

1  Take  them  away,  Benson,'  said  I ;  and  his  master 
muttered  an  oath. 

'  And  this  and  all,  sir  ?  '  said  the  astonished  servant, 
referring  to  the  half -finished  picture. 

'  That  and  all,'  replied  the  master  ;  and  the  things  were 
cleared  away. 

Mr.  Huntingdon  then  went  up-stairs.  I  did  not  attempt 
to  follow  him,  but  remained  seated  in  the  arm-chair,  speech- 
less, tearless,  and  almost  motionless,  till  he  returned  about 
half-an-hour  after,  and  walking  up  to  me,  held  the  candle  in 
my  face  and  peered  into  my  eyes  with  looks  and  laughter  too 
insulting  to  be  borne.  With  a  sudden  stroke  of  my  hand  I 
dashed  the  candle  to  the  floor. 

'  Hal-lo  ! '  muttered  he,  starting  back  ;  '  she's  the  very 
devil  for  spite.  Did  ever  any  mortal  see  such  eyes  ? — they 
shine  in  the  dark  like  a  cat's.  Oh,  you're  a  sweet  one  ! ' 
So  saying,  he  gathered  up  the  candle  and  the  candlestick. 
The  former  being  broken  as  well  as  extinguished,  he  rang  for 
another. 

'Benson,  your  mistress  has  broken  the  candle;  bring 
another.' 

'You  expose  yourself  finely,'  observed  I,  as  the  man 
departed. 

'  I  didn't  say  I'd  broken  it,  did  I  ?  '  returned  he.  He 
then  threw  my  keys  into  my  lap,  saying, — '  There !  you'll 
find  nothing  gone  but  your  money,  and  the  jewels,  and  a  few 
little  trifles  I  thought  it  advisable  to  take  into  my  own 
possession,  lest  your  mercantile  spirit  should  be  tempted  to 
turn  them  into  gold.  I've  left  you  a  few  sovereigns  in  your 
purse,  which  I  expect  to  last  you  through  the  month  ;  at  all 
events,  when  you  want  more  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  give 
me  an  account  of  how  that's  spent.  I  shall  put  you  upon  a 
small  monthly  allowance,  in  future,  for  your  own  private 
expenses  ;  and  you  needn't  trouble  yourself  any  more  about 
my  concerns ;  I  shall  look  out  for  a  steward,  my  dear — 
I  won't  expose  you  to  the  temptation.  And  as  for  the 
household  matters,  Mrs.  Greaves  must  be  very  particular  in 


370  THE  TENANT   OF 

keeping  her  accounts ;  we  must  go  upon  an  entirely  new 
plan ' 

'  What  great  discovery  have  you  made  now,  Mr. 
Huntingdon  ?  Have  I  attempted  to  defraud  you  ? ' 

'  Not  in  money  matters,  exactly,  it  seems ;  but  it's  best  to 
keep  out  of  the  way  of  temptation.' 

Here  Benson  entered  with  the  candles,  and  there  followed 
a  brief  interval  of  silence ;  I  sitting  still  in  my  chair,  and  he 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  silently  triumphing  in  my 
despair. 

'  And  so,'  said  he  at  length,  '  you  thought  to  disgrace  me, 
did  you,  by  running  away  and  turning  artist,  and  supporting 
yourself  by  the  labour  of  your  hands,  forsooth  ?  And  you 
thought  to  rob  me  of  my  son,  too,  and  bring  him  up  to  be  a 
dirty  Yankee  tradesman,  or  a  low,  beggarly  painter  ? ' 

'  Yes,  to  obviate  his  becoming  such  a  gentleman  as  his 
father.' 

'  It's  well  you  couldn't  keep  your  own  secret — ha,  ha ! 
It's  well  these  women  must  be  blabbing.  If  they  haven't  a 
friend  to  talk  to,  they  must  whisper  their  secrets  to  the  fishes, 
or  write  them  on  the  sand,  or  something ;  and  it's  well,  too, 
I  wasn't  over  full  to-night,  now  I  think  of  it,  or  I  might  have 
snoozed  away  and  never  dreamt  of  looking  what  my  sweet 
lady  was  about ;  or  I  might  have  lacked  the  sense  or  the 
power  to  carry  my  point  like  a  man,  as  I  have  done.' 

Leaving  him  to  his  self -congratulations,  I  rose  to  secure 
my  manuscript,  for  I  now  remembered  it  had  been  left  upon 
the  drawing-room  table,  and  I  determined,  if  possible,  to  save 
myself  the  humiliation  of  seeing  it  in  his  hands  again.  I 
could  not  bear  the  idea  of  his  amusing  himself  over  my 
secret  thoughts  and  recollections ;  though,  to  be  sure,  he 
would  find  little  good  of  himself  therein  indited,  except  in  the 
former  part;  and  oh,  I  would  sooner  burn  it  all  than  he 
should  read  what  I  had  written  when  I  was  such  a  fool  as  to 
love  him ! 

'And  by-the-by,'  cried  he,  as  I  was  leaving  the  room, 
'  you'd  better  tell  that  d d  old  sneak  of  a  nurse  to  keep 


WILDFELL  HALL  371 

out  of  my  way  for  a  day  or  two  ;  I'd  pay  her  her  wages  and 
send  her  packing  to-morrow,  but  I  know  she'd  do  more 
mischief  out  of  the  house  than  in  it.' 

And  as  I  departed,  he  went  on  cursing  and  abusing  my 
faithful  friend  and  servant  with  epithets  I  will  not  defi  e 
this  paper  with  repeating.  I  went  to  her  as  soon  as  I  had 
put  away  my  book,  and  told  her  how  our  project  was 
defeated.  She  was  as  much  distressed  and  horrified  as  I 
was — and  more  so  than  I  was  that  night,  for  I  was  partly 
stunned  by  the  blow,  and  partly  excited  and  supported  against 
it  by  the  bitterness  of  my  wrath.  But  in  the  morning,  when 
I  woke  without  that  cheering  hope  that  had  been  my  secret 
comfort  and  support  so  long,  and  all  this  day,  when  I  have 
wandered  about  restless  and  objectless,  shunning  my 
husband,  shrinking  even  from  my  child,  knowing  that  I  am 
unfit  to  be  his  teacher  or  companion,  hoping  nothing  for  his 
future  life,  and  fervently  wishing  he  had  never  been  born, — I 
felt  the  full  extent  of  my  calamity,  and  I  feel  it  now.  I 
know  that  day  after  day  such  feelings  will  return  upon  me. 
I  am  a  slave — a  prisoner — but  that  is  nothing ;  if  it  were 
myself  alone  I  would  not  complain,  but  I  am  forbidden  to 
rescue  my  son  from  ruin,  and  what  was  once  my  only 
consolation  is  become  the  crowning  source  of  my  despair. 

Have  I  no  faith  in  God  ?  I  try  to  look  to  Him  and  raise 
my  heart  to  heaven,  but  it  will  cleave  to  the  dust.  I  can 
only  say,  '  He  hath  hedged  me  about,  that  I  cannot  get  out : 
He  hath  made  my  chain  heavy.  He  hath  filled  me  with 
bitterness — He  hath  made  me  drunken  with  wormwood.'  I 
forget  to  add,  '  But  though  He  cause  grief,  yet  will  He  have 
compassion  according  to  the  multitude  of  His  mercies.  For 
He  doth  not  afflict  willingly  nor  grieve  the  children  of  men.' 
I  ought  to  think  of  this ;  and  if  there  be  nothing  but  sorrow 
for  me  in  this  world,  what  is  the  longest  life  of  misery  to  a 
whole  eternity  of  peace  ?  And  for  my  little  Arthur — has  he 
no  friend  but  me  ?  Who  was  it  said,  '  It  is  not  the  will  of 
your  Father  which  is  in  heaven  that  one  of  these  little  ones 
should  perish  ? ' 


CHAPTER  XLI 

MARCH  20TH. — Having  now  got  rid  of  Mr.  Huntingdon  for  a 
season,  my  spirits  begin  to  revive.  He  left  me  early  in 
February  ;  and  the  moment  he  was  gone,  I  breathed  again, 
and  felt  my  vital  energy  return ;  not  with  the  hope  of  escape 
— he  has  taken  care  to  leave  me  no  visible  chance  of  that — 
but  with  a  determination  to  make  the  best  of  existing  circum- 
stances. Here  was  Arthur  left  to  me  at  last ;  and  rousing 
from  my  despondent  apathy,  I  exerted  all  my  powers  to 
eradicate  the  weeds  that  had  been  fostered  in  his  infant  mind, 
and  sow  again  the  gocki  seed  they  had  rendered  unproductive. 
Thank  heaven,  it  is  not  a  barren  or  a  stony  soil ;  if  weeds 
spring  fast  there,  so  do  better  plants.  His  apprehensions  are 
more  quick,  his  heart  more  overflowing  with  affection  than 
ever  his  father's  could  have  been,  and  it  is  no  hopeless  task 
to  bend  him  to  obedience  and  win  him  to  love  and  know  his 
own  true  friend,  as  long  as  there  is  no  one  to  counteract  my 
efforts. 

I  had  much  trouble  at  first  in  breaking  him  of  those  evil 
habits  his  father  had  taught  him  to  acquire,  but  already  that 
difficulty  is  nearly  vanquished  now  :  bad  language  seldom 
defiles  his  mouth,  and  I  have  succeeded  in  giving  him  an 
absolute  disgust  for  all  intoxicating  liquors,  which  I  hope 
not  even  his  father  or  his  father's  friends  will  be  able  to  over- 
come. He  was  inordinately  fond  of  them  for  so  young  a 
creature,  and,  remembering  my  unfortunate  father  as  well  as 
his,  I  dreaded  the  consequences  of  such  a  taste.  But  if  I  had 
stinted  him  in  his  usual  quantity  of  wine,  or  forbidden  him 
to  taste  it  altogether,  that  would  only  have  increased  his 


WILDFELL   HALL  373 

• 

partiality  for  it,  and  made  him  regard  it  as  a  greater  treat 
than  ever.  I  therefore  gave  him  quite  as  much  as  his  father 
was  accustomed  to  allow  him ;  as  much,  indeed,  as  he  desired 
to  have — but  into  every  glass  I  surreptitiously  introduced  a 
small  quantity  of  tartar-emetic,  just  enough  to  produce 
inevitable  nausea  and  depression  without  positive  sickness. 
Finding  such  disagreeable  consequences  invariably  to  result 
from  this  indulgence,  he  soon  grew  weary  of  it,  but  the  more 
he  shrank  from  the  daily  treat  the  more  I  pressed  it  upon 
him,  till  his  reluctance  was  strengthened  to  perfect  abhor- 
rence. When  he  was  thoroughly  disgusted  with  every  kind 
of  wine,  I  allowed  him,  at  his  own  request,  to  try  brandy-and- 
water,  and  then  gin-and-water :  for  the  little  toper  was 
familiar  with  them  all,  and  I  was  determined  that  all  should 
be  equally  hateful  to  him.  This  I  have  now  effected ;  and 
since  he  declares  that  the  taste,  the  smell,  the  sight  of  any 
one  of  them  is  sufficient  to  make  him  sick,  I  have  given  up 
teasing  him  about  them,  except  now  and  then  as  objects  of 
terror  in  cases  of  misbehaviour.  'Arthur,  if  you're  not  a 
good  boy  I  shall  give  you  a  glass  of  wine,'  or  '  Now,  Arthur, 
if  you  say  that  again  you  shall  have  some  brandy-and-water,' 
is  as  good  as  any  other  threat ;  and  once  or  twice,  when  he 
was  sick,  I  have  obliged  the  poor  child  to  swallow  a  little 
wine-and-water  without  the  tartar-emetic,  by  way  of  medicine ; 
and  this  practice  I  intend  to  continue  for  some  time  to  come ; 
not  that  I  think  it  of  any  real  service  in  a  physical  sense, 
but  because  I  am  determined  to  enlist  all  the  powers  of 
association  in  my  service  ;  I  wish  this  aversion  to  be  so 
deeply  grounded  in  his  nature  that  nothing  in  after-life  may 
be  able  to  overcome  it. 

Thus,  I  flatter  myself,  I  shall  secure  him  from  this  one 
vice  ;  and  for  the  rest,  if  on  his  father's  return  I  find  reason 
to  apprehend  that  my  good  lessons  will  be  all  destroyed — 
if  Mr.  Huntingdon  commence  again  the  game  of  teaching  the 
child  to  hate  and  despise  his  mother,  and  emulate  his  father's 
wickedness — I  will  yet  deliver  my  son  from  his  hands.  I 
have  devised  another  scheme  that  might  be  resorted  to  in 


374  THE  TENANT  OF 

such  a  case  ;  and  if  I  could  but  obtain  my  brother's  consent 
and  assistance,  I  should  not  doubt  of  its  success.  The  old 
hall  where  he  and  I  were  born,  and  where  our  mother  died, 
is  not  now  inhabited,  nor  yet  quite  sunk  into  decay,  as  I 
believe.  Now,  if  I  could  persuade  him  to  have  one  or  two 
rooms  made  habitable,  and  to  let  them  to  me  as  a  stranger, 
I  might  live  there,  with  my  child,  under  an  assumed  name, 
and  still  support  myself  by  my  favourite  art.  He  should 
lend  me  the  money  to  begin  with,  and  I  would  pay  him 
back,  and  live  in  lowly  independence  and  strict  seclusion, 
for  the  house  stands  in  a  lonely  place,  and  the  neighbour- 
hood is  thinly  inhabited,  and  he  himself  should  negotiate 
the  sale  of  my  pictures  for  me.  I  have  arranged  the  whole 
plan  in  my  head  :  and  all  I  want  is  to  persuade  Frederick  to 
be  of  the  same  mind  as  myself.  He  is  coming  to  see  me  soon, 
and  then  I  will  make  the  proposal  to  him,  having  first  en- 
lightened him  upon  my  circumstances  sufficiently  to  excuse 
the  project. 

Already,  I  believe,  he  knows  much  more  of  my  situation 
than  I  have  told  him.  I  can  tell  this  by  the  air  of  tender  sad- 
ness pervading  his  letters ;  and  by  the  fact  of  his  so  seldom 
mentioning  my  husband,  and  generally  evincing  a  kind  of 
covert  bitterness  when  he  does  refer  to  him  ;  as  well  as  by 
the  circumstance  of  his  never  coming  to  see  me  when  Mr. 
Huntingdon  is  at  home.  But  he  has  never  openly  expressed 
any  disapprobation  of  him  or  sympathy  for  me  ;  he  has 
never  asked  any  questions,  or  said  anything  to  invite  my 
confidence.  Had  he  done  so,  I  should  probably  have  had 
but  few  concealments  from  him.  Perhaps  he  feels  hurt  at 
my  reserve.  He  is  a  strange  being ;  I  wish  we  knew  each 
other  better.  He  used  to  spend  a  month  at  Staningley  every 
year,  before  I  was  married ;  but,  since  our  father's  death,  I 
have  only  seen  him  once,  when  he  came  for  a  few  days 
while  Mr.  Huntingdon  was  away.  He  shall  stay  many 
days  this  time,  and  there  shall  be  more  candour  and 
cordiality  between  us  than  ever  there  was  before,  since  our 


WILDFELL  HALL  375 

early  childhood.  My  heart  clings  to  him  more  than  ever  ; 
and  my  soul  is  sick  of  solitude. 

April  16th. — He  is  come  and  gone.  He  would  not  stay 
above  a  fortnight.  The  time  passed  quickly,  but  very,  very 
happily,  and  it  has  done  me  good.  I  must  have  a  bad  dis- 
position, for  my  misfortunes  have  soured  and  embittered  me 
exceedingly :  I  was  beginning  insensibly  to  cherish  very  un- 
amiable  feelings  against  my  fellow-mortals,  the  male  part  of 
them  especially ;  but  it  is  a  comfort  to  see  there  is  at  least 
one  among  them  worthy  to  be  trusted  and  esteemed  ;  and 
doubtless  there  are  more,  though  I  have  never  known  them, 
unless  I  except  poor  Lord  Lowborough,  and  he  was  bad 
enough  in  his  day.  But  what  would  Frederick  have  been,  if  he 
had  lived  in  the  world,  and  mingled  from  his  childhood  with 
such  men  as  these  of  my  acquaintance  ?  and  what  will  Arthur 
be,  with  all  his  natural  sweetness  of  disposition,  if  I  do  not 
save  him  from  that  world  and  those  companions  ?  I  men- 
tioned my  fears  to  Frederick,  and  introduced  the  subject  of 
my  plan  of  rescue  on  the  evening  after  his  arrival,  when  I 
presented  my  little  son  to  his  uncle. 

'  He  is  like  you,  Frederick,'  said  I, '  in  some  of  his  moods  : 
I  sometimes  think  he  resembles  you  more  than  his  father ; 
and  I  am  glad  of  it.' 

'  You  flatter  me,  Helen,'  replied  he,  stroking  the  child's 
soft,  wavy  locks. 

'  No,  you  will  think  it  no  compliment  when  I  tell  you 
I  would  rather  have  him  to  resemble  Benson  than  his 
father.' 

He  slightly  elevated  his  eyebrows,  but  said  nothing. 

'  Do  you  know  what  sort  of  man  Mr.  Huntingdon  is  ?  ' 
said  I. 

'  I  think  I  have  an  idea.' 

'  Have  you  so  clear  an  idea  that  you  can  hear,  without 
surprise  or  disapproval,  that  I  meditate  escaping  with  that 
child  to  some  secret  asylum,  where  we  can  live  in  peace,  and 
never  see  him  again  ? ' 

'  Is  it  really  so  ?  ' 

'  If  you  have  not,'  continued  I,  '  I'll  tell  you  something 


376  THE  TENANT  OF 

more  about  him  ' ;  and  I  gave  a  sketch  of  his  general  conduct, 
and  a  more  particular  account  of  his  behaviour  with  regard  to 
his  child,  and  explained  my  apprehensions  on  the  latter's 
account,  and  my  determination  to  deliver  him  from  his 
father's  influence. 

Frederick  was  exceedingly  indignant  against  Mr.  Hunt- 
ingdon, and  very  much  grieved  for  me ;  but  still  he  looked 
upon  my  project  as  wild  and  impracticable.  He  deemed  my 
fears  for  Arthur  disproportioned  to  the  circumstances,  and 
opposed  so  many  objections  to  my  plan,  and  devised  so 
many  milder  methods  for  ameliorating  my  condition,  that  I 
was  obliged  to  enter  into  further  details  to  convince  him  that 
my  husband  was  utterly  incorrigible,  and  that  nothing  could 
persuade  him  to  give  up  his  son,  whatever  became  of  me,  he 
being  as  fully  determined  the  child  should  not  leave  him,  as 
I  was  not  to  leave  the  child ;  and  that,  in  fact,  nothing 
would  answer  but  this,  unless  I  fled  the  country,  as  I  had  in- 
tended before.  To  obviate  that,  he  at  length  consented  to 
have  one  wing  of  the  old  hall  put  into  a  habitable  condition, 
as  a  place  of  refuge  against  a  time  of  need  ;  but  hoped  I 
would  not  take  advantage  of  it  unless  circumstances  should 
render  it  really  necessary,  which  I  was  ready  enough  to 
promise :  for  though,  for  my  own  sake,  such  a  hermitage 
appears  like  paradise  itself,  compared  with  my  present  situa- 
tion, yet  for  my  friends'  sakes,  for  Milicent  and  Esther,  my 
sisters  in  heart  and  affection,  for  the  poor  tenants  of 
Grassdale,  and,  above  all,  for  my  aunt,  I  will  stay  if  I  pos- 
sibly can. 

July  29th. — Mrs.  Hargrave  and  her  daughter  are  come 
back  from  London.  Esther  is  full  of  her  first  season  in 
town  ;  but  she  is  still  heart-whole  and  unengaged.  Her 
mother  sought  out  an  excellent  match  for  her,  and  even 
brought  the  gentleman  to  lay  his  heart  and  fortune  at  her 
feet ;  but  Esther  had  the  audacity  to  refuse  the  noble  gifts. 
He  was  a  man  of  good  family  and  large  possessions,  but  the 
naughty  girl  maintained  he  was  old  as  Adam,  ugly  as  sin, 
and  hateful  as one  who  shall  be  nameless. 


WILDFELL  HALL  377 

'  But,  indeed,  I  had  a  hard  time  of  it,'  said  she :  '  mamma 
was  very  greatly  disappointed  at  the  failure  of  her  darling 
project,  and  very,  very  angry  at  my  obstinate  resistance  to 
her  will,  and  is  so  still ;  but  I  can't  help  it.  And  Walter, 
too,  is  so  seriously  displeased  at  my  perversity  and  absurd 
caprice,  as  he  calls  it,  that  I  fear  he  will  never  forgive  me — 
I  did  not  think  he  could  be  so  unkind  as  he  has  lately  shown 
himself.  But  Milicent  begged  me  not  to  yield,  and  I'm 
sure,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  if  you  had  seen  the  man  they  wanted 
to  palm  upon  me,  you  would  have  advised  me  not  to  take 
him  too.' 

'  I  should  have  done  so  whether  I  had  seen  him  or  not,' 
said  I ;  '  it  is  enough  that  you  dislike  him.' 

'  I  knew  you  would  say  so ;  though  mamma  affirmed  you 
would  be  quite  shocked  at  my  undutiful  conduct.  You  can't 
imagine  how  she  lectures  me  :  I  am  disobedient  and  ungrate- 
ful ;  I  am  thwarting  her  wishes,  wronging  my  brother,  and 
making  myself  a  burden  on  her  hands.  I  sometimes  fear 
she'll  overcome  me  after  all.  I  have  a  strong  will,  but  so 
has  she,  and  when  she  says  such  bitter  things,  it  provokes 
me  to  such  a  pass  that  I  feel  inclined  to  do  as  she  bids  me, 
and  then  break  my  heart  and  say,  "  There,  mamma,  it's  all 
your  fault ! " 

'  Pray  don't ! '  said  I.  '  Obedience  from  such  a  motive 
would  be  positive  wickedness,  and  certain  to  bring  the 
punishment  it  deserves.  Stand  firm,  and  your  mamma  will 
soon  relinquish  her  persecution  ;  and  the  gentleman  himself 
will  cease  to  pester  you  with  his  addresses  if  he  finds  them 
steadily  rejected.' 

'  Oh,  no  !  mamma  will  weary  all  about  her  before  she 
tires  herself  with  her  exertions  ;  and  as  for  Mr.  Oldfield,  she 
has  given  him  to  understand  that  I  have  refused  his  offer, 
not  from  any  dislike  of  his  person,  but  merely  because  I  am 
giddy  and  young,  and  cannot  at  present  reconcile  .myself  to 
the  thoughts  of  marriage  under  any  circumstances :  but  by 
next  season,  she  has  no  doubt,  I  shall  have  more  senso,  and 
hopes  my  girlish  fancies  will  be  worn  away.  So  she  has 


378  THE  TENANT  OF 

brought  me  home,  to  school  me  into  a  proper  sense  of  my 
duty,  against  the  time  comes  round  again.  Indeed,  I  believe 
she  will  not  put  herself  to  the  expense  of  taking  me  up  to 
London  again,  unless  I  surrender :  she  cannot  afford  to  take 
me  to  town  for  pleasure  and  nonsense,  she  says,  and  it  is  not 
every  rich  gentleman  that  will  consent  to  take  me  without  a 
fortune,  whatever  exalted  ideas  I  may  have  of  my  own 
attractions.' 

'  Well,  Esther,  I  pity  you ;  but  still,  I  repeat,  stand  firm. 
You  might  as  well  sell  yourself  to  slavery  at  once,  as  marry 
a  man  you  dislike.  If  your  mother  and  brother  are  unkind 
to  you,  you  may  leave  them,  but  remember  you  are  bound  to 
your  husband  for  life.' 

'  But  I  cannot  leave  them  unless  I  get  married,  and  I 
cannot  get  married  if  nobody  sees  me.  I  saw  one  or  two 
gentlemen  in  London  that  I  might  have  liked,  but  they  were 
younger  sons,  and  mamma  would  not  let  me  get  to  know 
them — one  especially,  who  I  believe  rather  liked  me — but 
she  threw  every  possible  obstacle  in  the  way  of  our  better 
acquaintance.  Wasn't  it  provoking  ?  ' 

1 1  have  no  doubt  you  would  feel  it  so,  but  it  is  possible 
that  if  you  married  him,  you  might  have  more  reason  to 
regret  it  hereafter  than  if  you  married  Mr.  Oldfield.  When 
I  tell  you  not  to  marry  without  love,  I  do  not  advise  you  to 
marry  for  love  alone :  there  are  many,  many  other  things  to 
be  considered.  Keep  both  heart  and  hand  in  your  own 
possession,  till  you  see  good  reason  to  part  with  them ;  and 
if  such  an  occasion  should  never  present  itself,  comfort  your 
mind  with  this  reflection,  that  though  in  single  life  your  joys 
may  not  be  very  many,  your  sorrows,  at  least,  will  not  be 
more  than  you  can  bear.  Marriage  may  change  your  cir- 
cumstances for  the  better,  but,  in  my  private  opinion,  it  is 
far  more  likely  to  produce  a  contrary  result.' 

'  So  thinks  Milicent ;  but  allow  me  to  say  I  think  other- 
wise. If  I  thought  myself  doomed  to  old-maidenhood,  I 
should  cease  to  value  my  life.  The  thoughts  of  living  on, 
year  after  year,  at  the  Grove — a  hanger-on  upon  mamma 


WILDFELL  HALL  379 

and  Walter,  a  mere  cumberer  of  the  ground  (now  that  I 
know  in  what  light  they  would  regard  it),  is  perfectly 
intolerable  ;  I  would  rather  run  away  with  the  butler.' 

'  Your  circumstances  are  peculiar,  I  allow ;  but  have 
patience,  love ;  do  nothing  rashly.  Eemember  you  are  not 
yet  nineteen,  and  many  years  are  yet  to  pass  before  any  one 
can  set  you  down  as  an  old  maid :  you  cannot  tell  what 
Providence  may  have  in  store  for  you.  And  meantime, 
remember  you  have  a  right  to  the  protection  and  support  of 
your  mother  and  brother,  however  they  may  seem  to  grudge 
it.' 

'  You  are  so  grave,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,'  said  Esther,  after 
a  pause.  '  When  Milicent  uttered  the  same  discouraging 
sentiments  concerning  marriage,  I  asked  if  she  was  happy  : 
she  said  she  was ;  but  I  only  half  believed  her ;  and  now  I 
must  put  the  same  question  to  you.' 

'  It  is  a  very  impertinent  question,'  laughed  I,  '  from  a 
young  girl  to  a  married  woman  so  many  years  her  senior, 
and  I  shall  not  answer  it.' 

'  Pardon  me,  dear  madam,'  said  she,  laughingly  throwing 
herself  into  my  arms,  and  kissing  me  with  playful  affection  ; 
but  I  felt  a  tear  on  my  neck,  as  she  dropped  her  head  on  my 
bosom  and  continued,  with  an  odd  mixture  of  sadness  and 
levity,  timidity  and  audacity, — '  I  know  you  are  not  so  happy 
as  I  mean  to  be,  for  you  spend  half  your  life  alone  at 
Grassdale,  while  Mr.  Huntingdon  goes  about  enjoying 
himself  where  and  how  he  pleases.  I  shall  expect  my 
husband  to  have  no  pleasures  but  what  he  shares  with  me  ; 
and  if  his  greatest  pleasure  of  all  is  not  the  enjoyment  of  my 
company,  why,  it  will  be  the  worse  for  him,  that's  all.' 

1  If  such  are  your  expectations  of  matrimony,  Esther,  you 
must,  indeed,  be  careful  whom  you  marry — or  rather,  you 
must  avoid  it  altogether.' 


CHAPTEE  XLH 

SEPTEMBER  IST. — No  Mr.  Huntingdon  yet.  Perhaps  he  will 
stay  among  his  friends  till  Christmas  ;  and  then,  next  spring, 
he  will  be  off  again.  If  he  continue  this  plan,  I  shall  be 
able  to  stay  at  Grassdale  well  enough — that  is,  I  shall  be  able 
to  stay,  and  that  is  enough ;  even  an  occasional  bevy  of  friends 
at  the  shooting  season  may  be  borne,  if  Arthur  get  so  firmly 
attached  to  me,  so  well  established  in  good  sense  and  prin- 
ciples before  they  come  that  I  shall  be  able,  by  reason  and 
affection,  to  keep  him  pure  from  their  contaminations.  Vain 
hope,  I  fear !  but  still,  till  such  a  time  of  trial  comes  I  will 
forbear  to  think  of  my  quiet  asylum  in  the  beloved  old  hall. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hattersley  have  been  staying  at  the  Grove 
a  fortnight ;  and  as  Mr.  Hargrave  is  still  absent,  and  the 
weather  was  remarkably  fine,  I  never  passed  a  day  without 
seeing  my  two  friends,  Milicent  and  Esther,  either  there  or 
here.  On  one  occasion,  when  Mr.  Hattersley  had  driven 
them  over  to  Grassdale  in  the  phaeton,  with  little  Helen  and 
Ealph,  and  we  were  all  enjoying  ourselves  in  the  garden — I 
had  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  that  gentleman,  while 
the  ladies  were  amusing  themselves  with  the  children. 

'  Do  you  want  to  hear  anything  of  your  husband,  Mrs. 
Huntingdon  ?  '  said  he. 

1  No,  unless  you  can  tell  me  when  to  expect  him  home." 

'  I  can't. — You  don't  want  him,  do  you  ? '  said  he,  with  a 
broad  grin. 

'No.' 

'  Well,  I  think  you're  better  without  him,  sure  enough — 
for  my  part,  I'm  downright  weary  of  him.  I  told  him  I'd 
leave  him  if  he  didn't  mend  his  manners,  and  he  wouldn't ; 


WILDFELL  HALL  381 

so  I  left  him.  You  see,  I'm  a  better  man  than  you  think  me ; 
and,  what's  more,  I  have  serious  thoughts  of  washing  my 
hands  of  him  entirely,  and  the  whole  set  of  'em,  and  com- 
porting myself  from  this  day  forward  with  all  decency  and 
sobriety,  as  a  Christian  and  the  father  of  a  family  should  do. 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ? ' 

'  It  is  a  resolution  you  ought  to  have  formed  long  ago.' 
'  Well,  I'm  not  thirty  yet ;  it  isn't  too  late,  is  it  ? ' 
'  No  ;  it  is  never  too  late  to  reform,  as  long  as  you  have 
the  sense  to  desire  it,  and  the  strength  to  execute  your  pur- 
pose.' 

'  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I've  thought  of  it  often  and 
often   before ;    but    he's   such  devilish    good   company,   is 
Huntingdon,  after  all.    You  can't  imagine  what  a  jovial  good 
fellow  he  is  when  he's  not  fairly  drunk,  only  just  primed  or 
half-seas-over.     We  all  have  a  bit  of  a  liking  for  him  at  the 
bottom  of  our  hearts,  though  we  can't  respect  him.' 
'  But  should  you  wish  yourself  to  be  like  him  ?  ' 
'  No,  I'd  rather  be  like  myself,  bad  as  I  am.' 
'  You  can't  continue  as  bad  as  you  are  without  getting 
worse  and  more  brutalised  every  day,  and   therefore  more 
like  him.' 

I  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  comical,  half-angry,  half- 
confounded  look  he  put  on  at  this  rather  unusual  mode  of 
address. 

1  Never  mind  my  plain  speaking,'  said  I ;  '  it  is  from  the 
best  of  motives.     But  tell  me,  should  you  wish  your  sons  to 
be  like  Mr.  Huntingdon — or  even  like  yourself  ? ' 
'  Hang  it !  no.' 

'  Should  you  wish  your  daughter  to  despise  you — or,  at 
least,  to  feel  no  vestige  of  respect  for  you,  and  no  affection 
but  what  is  mingled  with  the  bitterest  regret  ?  ' 
'  Oh,  no !  I  couldn't  stand  that.' 

'  And,  finally,  should  you  wish  your  wife  to  be  ready  to 
sink  into  the  earth  when  she  hears  you  mentioned ;  and  to 
loathe  the  very  sound  of  your  voice,  and  shudder  at  your 
approach  ? ' 


382  THE  TENANT   OF 

'  She  never  will ;  she  likes  me  all  the  same,  whatever  I 
do.' 

'  Impossible,  Mr.  Hattersley  !  you  mistake  her  quiet  sub- 
mission for  affection.' 

'  Fire  and  fury ' 

'  Now  don't  burst  into  a  tempest  at  that.  I  don't  mean 
to  say  she  does  not  love  you — she  does,  I  know,  a  great  deal 
better  than  you  deserve ;  but  I  am  quite  sure,  that  if  you 
behave  better,  she  will  love  you  more,  and  if  you  behave 
worse,  she  will  love  you  less  and  less,  till  all  is  lost  in  fear, 
aversion,  and  bitterness  of  soul,  if  not  in  secret  hatred  and 
contempt.  But,  dropping  the  subject  of  affection,  should 
you  wish  to  be  the  tyrant  of  her  life — to  take  away  all  the 
sunshine  from  her  existence,  and  make  her  thoroughly 
miserable  ? ' 

'  Of  course  not ;  and  I  don't,  and  I'm  not  going  to.' 

'  You  have  done  more  towards  it  than  you  suppose.' 

'  Pooh,  pooh !  she's  not  the  susceptible,  anxious,  worriting 
creature  you  imagine  :  she's  a  little  meek,  peaceable,  affec- 
tionate body ;  apt  to  be  rather  sulky  at  times,  but  quiet  and 
cool  in  the  main,  and  ready  to  take  things  as  they  come.' 

'  Think  of  what  she  was  five  years  ago,  when  you  married 
her,  and  what  she  is  now.' 

'  I  know  she  was  a  little  plump  lassie  then,  with  a  pretty 
pink  and  white  face  :  now  she's  a  poor  little  bit  of  a  creature, 
fading  and  melting  away  like  a  snow-wreath.  But  hang 
it ! — that's  not  my  fault.' 

'  What  is  the  cause  of  it  then  ?  Not  years,  for  she's  only 
five-and-twenty.' 

'  It's  her  own  delicate  health,  and  confound  it,  madam  ! 
what  would  you  make  of  me  ? — and  the  children,  to  be  sure, 
that  worry  her  to  death  between  them.'  • 

'  No,  Mr.  Hattersley,  the  children  give  her  more  pleasure 
than  pain :  they  are  fine,  well-dispositioned  children ' 

1 1  know  they  are — bless  them ! ' 

'  Then  why  lay  the  blame  on  them  ? — I'll  tell  you  what  it 
is  :  it's  silent  fretting  and  constant  anxiety  on  your  account, 


WILDFELL  HALL  383 

mingled,  I  suspect,  with  something  of  bodily  fear  on  her  own. 
When  you  behave  well,  she  can  only  rejoice  with  trembling ; 
she  has  no  security,  no  confidence  in  your  judgment  or 
principles ;  but  is  continually  dreading  the  close  of  such 
short-lived  felicity ;  when  you  behave  ill,  her  causes  of  terror 
and  misery  are  more  than  any  one  can  tell  but  herself.  In 
patient  endurance  of  evil,  she  forgets  it  is  our  duty  to 
admonish  our  neighbours  of  their  transgressions.  Since  you 
will  mistake  her  silence  for  indifference,  come  with  me,  and 
I'll  show  you  one  or  two  of  her  letters — no  breach  of 
confidence,  I  hope,  since  you  are  her  other  half.' 

He  followed  me  into  the  library.  I  sought  out  and  put 
into  his  hands  two  of  Milicent's  letters :  one  dated  from 
London,  and  written  during  one  of  his  wildest  seasons  of 
reckless  dissipation ;  the  other  in  the  country,  during  a  lucid 
interval.  The  former  was  full  of  trouble  and  anguish ;  not 
accusing  him,  but  deeply  regretting  his  connection  with  his 
profligate  companions,  abusing  Mr.  Grimsby  and  others, 
insinuating  bitter  things  against  Mr.  Huntingdon,  and  most 
ingeniously  throwing  the  blame  of  her  husband's  misconduct 
on  to  other  men's  shoulders.  The  latter  was  full  of  hope  and 
joy,  yet  with  a  trembling  consciousness  that  this  happiness 
would  not  last ;  praising  his  goodness  to  the  skies,  but  with 
an  evident,  though  but  half-expressed  wish,  that  it  were 
based  on  a  surer  foundation  than  the  natural  impulses  of  the 
heart,  and  a  half-prophetic  dread  of  the  fall  of  that  house  so 
founded  on  the  sand, — which  fall  had  shortly  after  taken 
place,  as  Hattersley  must  have  been  conscious  while  he  read. 

Almost  at  the  commencement  of  the  first  letter  I  had  the 
unexpected  pleasure  of  seeing  him  blush  ;  but  he  immediately 
turned  his  back  to  me,  and  finished  the  perusal  at  the 
window.  At  the  second,  I  saw  him,  once  or  twice,  raise  his 
hand,  and  hurriedly  pass  it  across  his  face.  Could  it  be  to 
dash  away  a  tear  ?  When  he  had  done,  there  was  an  interval 
spent  in  clearing  his  throat  and  staring  out  of  the  window 
and  then,  after  whistling  a  few  bars  of  a  favourite  air,  he 


384  THE  TENANT  OF 

turned  round,  gave  me  back  the  letters,  and  silently  shook 
me  by  the  hand. 

'  I've  been  a  cursed  rascal,  God  knows,'  said  he,  as  he 
gave  it  a  hearty  squeeze,  '  but  you  see  if  I  don't  make  amends 
for  it — d n  me  if  I  don't ! ' 

'  Don't  curse  yourself,  Mr.  Hattersley ;  if  God  had  heard 
half  your  invocations  of  that  kind,  you  would  have  been  in 
hell  long  before  now — and  you  cannot  make  amends  for  the 
past  by  doing  your  duty  for  the  future,  inasmuch  as  your 
duty  is  only  what  you  owe  to  your  Maker,  and  you  cannot 
do  more  than  fulfil  it :  another  must  make  amends  for  your 
past  delinquencies.  If  you  intend  to  reform,  invoke  God's 
blessing,  His  mercy,  and  His  aid  ;  not  His  curse.' 

'  God  help  me,  then — for  I'm  sure  I  need  it.  Where's 
Milicent  ? ' 

'  She's  there,  just  coming  in  with  her  sister.' 

He  stepped  ou-  at  the  glass  door,  and  went  to  meet  them. 
I  followed  at  a  little  distance.  Somewhat  to  his  wife's 
astonishment,  he  lifted  her  off  from  the  ground,  and  saluted 
her  with  a  hearty  kiss  and  a  strong  embrace  ;  then  placing 
his  two  hands  on  her  shoulders,  he  gave  her,  I  suppose,  a 
sketch  of  the  great  things  he  meant  to  do,  for  she  suddenly 
threw  her  arms  round  him,  and  burst  into  tears,  exclaiming, 
— '  Do,  do,  Ralph — we  shall  be  so  happy !  How  very,  very 
good  you  are  ! ' 

'  Nay,  not  I,'  said  he,  turning  her  round,  and  pushing  her 
towards  me.  '  Thank  her ;  it's  her  doing.' 

Milicent  flew  to  thank  me,  overflowing  with  gratitude.  I 
disclaimed  all  title  to  it,  telling  her  her  husband  was  predis- 
posed to  amendment  before  I  added  my  mite  of  exhortation 
and  encouragement,  and  that  I  had  only  done  what  she 
might,  and  ought  to  have  done  herself. 

1  Oh,  no !  '  cried  she ;  '  I  couldn't  have  influenced  him, 
I'm  sure,  by  anything  that  I 'could  have  said.  I  should 
only  have  bothered  him  by  my  clumsy  efforts  at  persuasion, 
if  I  had  made  the  attempt.' 

'  You  never  tried  me,  Milly,'  said  he. 


WILDFELL  HALL  385 

Shortly  after  they  took  their  leave.  They  are  now  gone 
on  a  visit  to  Hattersley's  father.  After  that  they  will  repair 
to  their  country  home.  I  hope  his  good  resolutions  will  not 
fall  through,  and  poor  Milicent  will  not  be  again  disap- 
pointed. Her  last  letter  was  full  of  present  bliss,  and  pleas- 
ing anticipations  for  the  future  ;  but  no  particular  temptation 
has  yet  occurred  to  put  his  virtue  to  the  test.  Henceforth, 
however,  she  will  doubtless  be  somewhat  less  timid  and 
reserved,  and  he  more  kind  and  thoughtful. — Surely,  then, 
her  hopes  are  not  unfounded ;  and  I  have  one  bright  spot,  at 
least,  whereon  to  rest  my  thoughts. 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

OCTOBEB  lOrn. — Mr.  Huntingdon  returned  about  three 
weeks  ago.  His  appearance,  his  demeanour  and  conversa- 
tion, and  my  feelings  with  regard  to  him,  I  shall  not  trouble 
myself  to  describe.  The  day  after  his  arrival,  however,  he 
surprised  me  by  the  announcement  of  an  intention  to  pro- 
cure a  governess  for  little  Arthur :  I  told  him  it  was  quite 
unnecessary,  not  to  say  ridiculous,  at  the  present  season  :  I 
thought  I  was  fully  competent  to  the  task  of  teaching  him 
myself — for  some  years  to  come,  at  least :  the  child's  educa- 
tion was  the  only  pleasure  and  business  of  my  life;  and 
since  he  had  deprived  me  of  every  other  occupation,  he  might 
surely  leave  me  that. 

He  said  I  was  not  fit  to  teach  children,  or  to  be  with 
them  :  I  had  already  reduced  the  boy  to  little  better  than  an 
automaton  ;  I  had  broken  his  fine  spirit  with  my  rigid  seve- 
rity ;  and  I  should  freeze  all  the  sunshine  out  of  his  heart, 
and  make  him  as  gloomy  an  ascetic  as  myself,  if  I  had  the 
handling  of  him  much  longer.  And  poor  Rachel,  too,  came  in 
for  her  share  of  abuse,  as  usual ;  he  cannot  endure  Rachel, 
because  he  knows  she  has  a  proper  appreciation  of  him. 

I  calmly  defended  our  several  qualifications  as  nurse  and 
governess,  and  still  resisted  the  proposed  addition  to  our 
family ;  but  he  cut  me  short  by  saying  it  was  no  use 
bothering  about  the  matter,  for  he  had  engaged  a  governess 
already,  and  she  was  coming  next  week  ;  so  that  all  I  had  to 
do  was  to  get  things  ready  for  her  reception.  This  was 
a  rather  startling  piece  of  intelligence.  I  ventured  to  inquire 


WILDFELL  HALL  387 

her  name   and  address,  by  whom  she  had  been  recom- 
mended, or  how  he  had  been  led  to  make  choice  of  her. 

'  She  is  a  very  estimable,  pious  young  person,'  said  he ; 
'  you  needn't  be  afraid.  Her  name  is  Myers,  I  believe ;  and 
she  was  recommended  to  me  by  a  respectable  old  dowager  : 
a  lady  of  high  repute  in  the  religious  world.  I  have  not 
seen  her  myself,  and  therefore  cannot  give  you  a  particular 
account  of  her  person  and  conversation,  and  so  forth ;  but, 
if  the  old  lady's  eulogies  are  correct,  you  will  find  her  to 
possess  all  desirable  qualifications  for  her  position:  an 
inordinate  love  of  children  among  the  rest.' 

All  this  was  gravely  and  quietly  spoken,  but  there  was  a 
laughing  demon  in  his  half-averted  eye  that  boded  no  good, 

I  imagined.    However,  I  thought  of  my  asylum  in shire, 

and  made  no  further  objections. 

When  Miss  Myers  arrived,  I  was  not  prepared  to  give  her 
a  very  cordial  reception.  Her  appearance  was  not  particu- 
larly calculated  to  produce  a  favourable  impression  at  first 
sight,  nor  did  her  manners  and  subsequent  conduct,  in  any 
degree,  remove  the  prejudice  I  had  already  conceived  against 
her.  Her  attainments  were  limited,  her  intellect  noways 
above  mediocrity.  She  had  a  fine  voice,  and  could  sing  like 
a  nightingale,  and  accompany  herself  sufficiently  well  on  the 
piano ;  but  these  were  her  only  accomplishments.  There 
was  a  look  of  guile  and  subtlety  in  her  face,  a  sound  of  it  in 
her  voice.  She  seemed  afraid  of  me,  and  would  start  if  I 
suddenly  approached  her.  In  her  behaviour  she  was 
respectful  and  complaisant,  even  to  servility :  she  attempted 
to  flatter  and  fawn  upon  me  at  first,  but  I  soon  checked  that. 
Her  fondness  for  her  little  pupil  was  overstrained,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  remonstrate  with  her  on  the  subject  of  over-indul- 
gence and  injudicious  praise ;  but  she  could  not  gain  his 
heart.  Her  piety  consisted  in  an  occasional  heaving  of  sighs, 
and  uplifting  of  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  and  the  utterance  of  a 
few  cant  phrases.  She  told  me  she  was  a  clergyman's 
daughter,  and  had  been  left  an  orphan  from  her  childhood, 
but  had  had  the  good  fortune  to  obtain  a  situation  in  a  very 


388  THE  TENANT  OF 

pious  family ;  and  then  she  spoke  so  gratefully  of  the  kind- 
ness she  had  experienced  from  its  different  members,  that  I 
reproached  myself  for  my  uncharitable  thoughts  and  un- 
friendly conduct,  and  relented  for  a  time,  but  not  for  long : 
my  causes  of  dislike  were  too  rational,  my  suspicions  too  well 
founded  for  that ;  and  I  knew  it  was  my  duty  to  watch  and 
scrutinize  till  those  suspicions  were  either  satisfactorily 
removed  or  confirmed. 

I  asked  the  name  and  residence  of  the  kind  and  pious 
family.  She  mentioned  a  common  name,  and  an  unknown 
and  distant  place  of  abode,  but  told  me  they  were  now  on 
the  Continent,  and  their  present  address  was  unknown  to 
her.  I  never  saw  her  speak  much  to  Mr.  Huntingdon  ;  but 
he  would  frequently  look  into  the  school-room  to  see  how 
little  Arthur  got  on  with  his  new  companion,  when  I  was 
not  there.  In  the  evening,  she  sat  with  us  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  would  sing  and  play  to  amuse  him  or  us,  as  she 
pretended,  and  was  very  attentive  to  his  wants,  and  watchful 
to  anticipate  them,  though  she  only  talked  to  me  ;  indeed, 
he  was  seldom  in  a  condition  to  be  talked  to.  Had  she  been 
other  than  she  was,  I  should  have  felt  her  presence  a  great 
relief  to  come  between  us  thus,  except,  indeed,  that  I  should 
have  been  thoroughly  ashamed  for  any  decent  person  to  see 
him  as  he  often  was. 

I  did  not  mention  my  suspicions  to  Eachel ;  but  she, 
having  sojourned  for  half  a  century  in  this  land  of  sin  and 
sorrow,  has  learned  to  be  suspicious  herself.  She  told  me 
from  the  first  she  was  '  down  of  that  new  governess,'  and  I 
soon  found  she  watched  her  quite  as  narrowly  as  I  did  ;  and 
I  was  glad  of  it,  for  I  longed  to  know  the  truth  :  the  atmo- 
sphere of  Grassdale  seemed  to  stifle  me,  and  I  could  only  live 
by  thinking  of  Wildfell  Hall. 

At  last,  one  morning,  she  entered  my  chamber  with  such 
intelligence  that  my  resolution  was  taken  before  she  had 
ceased  to  speak.  While  she  dressed  me  I  explained  to  her 
my  intentions  and  what  assistance  I  should  require  from  her, 
and  told  her  which  of  my  things  she  was  to  pack  up,  and 


WILDFELL  HALL  389 

what  she  was  to  leave  behind  for  herself,  as  I  had  no  other 
means  of  recompensing  her  for  this  sudden  dismissal  after 
her  long  and  faithful  service  :  a  circumstance  I  most  deeply 
regretted,  but  could  not  avoid. 

'  And  what  will  you  do,  Eachel  ? '  said  I ;  '  will  you  go 
home,  or  seek  another  place  ? ' 

'  I  have  no  home,  ma'am,  but  with  you,'  she  replied ;  '  and 
if  I  leave  you  I'll  never  go  into  place  again  as  long  as  I  live.' 

'  But  I  can't  afford  to  live  like  a  lady  now,'  returned  I : 
'  I  must  be  my  own  maid  and  my  child's  nurse.' 

'  What  signifies ! '  replied  she,  in  some  excitement. 
'  You'll  want  somebody  to  clean  and  wash,  and  cook,  won't 
you  ?  I  can  do  all  that ;  and  never  mind  the  wages  :  I've 
my  bits  o'  savings  yet,  and  if  you  wouldn't  take  me  I  should 
have  to  find  my  own  board  and  lodging  out  of  'em  some- 
where, or  else  work  among  strangers  :  and  it's  what  I'm  not 
used  to :  so  you  can  please  yourself,  ma'am.'  Her  voice 
quavered  as  she  spoke,  and  the  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

'  I  should  like  it  above  all  things,  Eachel,  and  I'd  give 
you  such  wages  as  I  could  afford  :  such  as  I  should  give  to 
any  servant-of -all-work  I  might  employ  :  but  don't  you  see 
I  should  be  dragging  you  down  with  me  when  you  have  done 
nothing  to  deserve  it  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  fiddle  ! '  ejaculated  she. 

'  And,  besides,  my  future  way  of  living  will  be  so  widely 
different  to  the  past :  so  different  to  all  you  have  been  accus- 
tomed to ' 

'  Do  you  think,  ma'am,  I  can't  bear  what  my  missis  can  ? 
surely  I'm  not  so  proud  and  so  dainty  as  that  comes  to ;  and 
my  little  master,  too,  God  bless  him  ! ' 

'  But  I'm  young,  Eachel ;  I  sha'n't  mind  it ;  and  Arthur 
is  young  too :  it  will  be  nothing'  to  him.' 

'  Nor  me  either :  I'm  not  so  old  but  what  I  can  stand 
hard  fare  and  hard  work,  if  it's  only  to  help  and  comfort 
them  as  I've  loved  like  my  own  bairns  :  for  all  I'm  too  old  to 
bide  the  thoughts  o'  leaving  'em  in  trouble  and  danger,  and 
going  amongst  strangers  myself.' 


390  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  Then  you  sha'n't,  Rachel ! '  cried  I,  embracing  my  faith- 
ful friend.  '  We'll  all  go  together,  and  you  shall  see  how 
the  new  life  suits  you.' 

'  Bless  you,  honey ! '  cried  she,  affectionately  returning 
my  embrace.  '  Only  let  us  get  shut  of  this  wicked  house, 
and  we'll  do  right  enough,  you'll  see.' 

'  So  think  I,'  was  my  answer ;  and  so  that  point  was 
settled. 

By  that  morning's  post  I  despatched  a  few  hasty  lines  to 
Frederick,  beseeching  him  to  prepare  my  asylum  for  my 
immediate  reception  :  for  I  should  probably  come  to  claim  it 
within  a  day  after  the  receipt  of  that  note  :  and  telling  him, 
in  few  words,  the  cause  of  my  sudden  resolution.  I  then  wrote 
three  letters  of  adieu :  the  first  to  Esther  Hargrave,  in 
which  I  told  her  that  I  found  it  impossible  to  stay  any  longer 
at  Grassdale,  or  to  leave  my  son  under  his  father's  protec- 
tion ;  and,  as  it  was  of  the  last  importance  that  our  future 
abode  should  be  unknown  to  him  and  his  acquaintance,  I 
should  disclose  it  to  no  one  but  my  brother,  through  the 
medium  of  whom  I  hoped  still  to  correspond  with  my  friends. 
I  then  gave  her  his  address,  exhorted  her  to  write  frequently, 
reiterated  some  of  my  former  admonitions  regarding  her  own 
concerns,  and  bade  her  a  fond  farewell. 

The  second  was  to  Milicent ;  much  to  the  same  effect, 
but  a  little  more  confidential,  as  befitted  our  longer  intimacy, 
and  her  greater  experience  and  better  acquaintance  with  my 
circumstances. 

The  third  was  to  my  aunt :  a  much  more  difficult  and 
painful  undertaking,  and  therefore  I  had  left  it  to  the  last ; 
but  I  must  give  her  some  explanation  of  that  extraordinary 
step  I  had  taken  :  and  that  quickly,  for  she  and  my  uncle 
would  no  doubt  hear  of  it  within  a  day  or  two  after  my 
disappearance,  as  it  was  probable  that  Mr.  Huntingdon 
would  speedily  apply  to  them  to  know  what  was  become  of 
me.  At  last,  however,  I  told  her  I  was  sensible  of  my  error : 
I  did  not  complain  of  its  punishment,  and  I  was  sorry  to 
trouble  my  friends  with  its  consequences  ;  but  in  duty  to  my 


WILDFELL  HALL  391 

son  I  must  submit  no  longer ;  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
that  he  should  be  delivered  from  his  father's  corrupting 
influence.  I  should  not  disclose  my  place  of  refuge  even  to 
her,  in  order  that  she  and  my  uncle  might  be  able,  with  truth, 
to  deny  all  knowledge  concerning  it ;  but  any  communications 
addressed  to  me  under  cover  to  my  brother  would  be  certain 
to  reach  me.  I  hoped  she  and  my  uncle  would  pardon  the 
step  I  had  taken,  for  if  they  knew  all,  I  was  sure  they  would 
not  blame  me ;  and  I  trusted  they  would  not  afflict  them- 
selves on  my  account,  for  if  I  could  only  reach  my  retreat 
in  safety  and  keep  it  unmolested,  I  should  be  very  happy, 
but  for  the  thoughts  of  them  ;  and  should  be  quite  contented 
to  spend  my  life  in  obscurity,  devoting  myself  to  the  training 
up  of  my  child,  and  teaching  him  to  avoid  the  errors  of  both 
his  parents. 

These  things  were  done  yesterday :  I  have  given  two  whole 
days  to  the  preparation  for  our  departure,  that  Frederick  may 
have  more  time  to  prepare  the  rooms,  and  Eachel  to  pack  up 
the  things  :  for  the  latter  task  must  be  done  with  the  utmost 
caution  and  secrecy,  and  there  is  no  one  but  me  to  assist  her. 
I  can  help  to  get  the  articles  together,  but  I  do  not  under- 
stand the  art  of  stowing  them  into  the  boxes,  so  as  to  take 
up  the  smallest-  possible  space  ;  and  there  are  her  own  things 
to  do,  as  well  as  mine  and  Arthur's.  I  can  ill  afford  to 
leave  anything  behind,  since  I  have  no  money,  except  a  few 
guineas  in  my  purse;  and  besides,  as  Eachel  observed, 
whatever  I  left  would  most  likely  become  the  property  of 
Miss  Myers,  and  I  should  not  relish  that. 

But  what  trouble  I  have  had  throughout  these  two  days, 
struggling  to  appear  calm  and  collected,  to  meet  him  and  her 
as  usual,  when  I  was  obliged  to  meet  them,  and  forcing  my- 
self to  leave  my  little  Arthur  in  her  hands  for  hours  together ! 
But  I  trust  these  trials  are  over  now :  I  have  laid  him  in  my 
bed  for  better  security,  and  never  more,  I  trust,  shall  his  inno- 
cent lips  be  denied  by  their  contaminating  kisses,  or  his 
young  ears  polluted  by  their  words.  But  shall  we  escape  in 
safety  ?  Oh,  that  the  morning  were  come,  and  we  were  on 


392  THE   TENANT  OF 

our  way  at  least !  This  evening,  when  I  had  given  Rachel 
all  the  assistance  I  could,  and  had  nothing  left  me  but  to 
wait,  and  wish  and  tremble,  I  became  so  greatly  agitated 
that  I  knew  not  what  to  do.  I  went  down  to  dinner,  but  I 
could  not  force  myself  to  eat.  Mr.  Huntingdon  remarked 
the  circumstance. 

'  What's  to  do  with  you  now  ? '  said  he,  when  the  re- 
moval of  the  second  course  gave  him  time  to  look  about  him. 

'  I  am  not  well,"  I  replied  :  '  I  think  I  must  lie  down  a 
little ;  you  won't  miss  me  much  ? ' 

'  Not  the  least :  if  you  leave  your  chair,  it'll  do  just  as 
well — better,  a  trifle/  he  muttered,  as  I  left  the  room,  '  for 
I  can  fancy  somebody  else  fills  it.' 

'  Somebody  else  may  fill  it  to-morrow, '  I  thought,  but 
did  not  say.  '  There  !  I've  seen  the  last  of  you,  I  hope,'  I 
muttered,  as  I  closed  the  door  upon  him. 

Eachel  urged  me  to  seek  repose  at  once,  to  recruit  my 
strength  for  to-morrow's  journey,  as  we  must  be  gone  before 
the  dawn ;  but  in  my  present  state  of  nervous  excitement 
that  was  entirely  out  of  the  question.  It  was  equally  out  of 
the  question  to  sit,  or  wander  about  my  room,  counting  the 
hours  and  the  minutes  between  me  and  the  appointed  time 
of  action,  straining  my  ears  and  trembling  at  every  sound,  lest 
someone  should  discover  and  betray  us  after  all.  I  took  up 
a  book  and  tried  to  read  :  my  eyes  wandered  over  the  pages, 
but  it  was  impossible  to  bind  my  thoughts  to  their  contents. 
Why  not  have  recourse  to  the  old  expedient,  and  add  this 
last  event  to  my  chronicle  ?  I  opened  its  pages  once  more, 
and  wrote  the  above  account — with  difficulty,  at  first,  but 
gradually  my  mind  became  more  calm  and  steady.  Thus 
several  hours  have  passed  away :  the  time  is  drawing  near ; 
and  now  my  eyes  feel  heavy  and  my  frame  exhausted.  I 
.  will  commend  my  cause  to  God,  and  then  lie  down  and  gain 
an  hour  or  two  of  sleep ;  and  then  ! 

Little  Arthur  sleeps  soundly.  All  the  house  is  still : 
there  can  be  no  one  watching.  The  boxes  were  all  corded 
by  Benson,  and  quietly  conveyed  down  the  back  stairs  after 


WILDFELL  HALL  393 

dusk,  and  sent  away  in  a  cart  to  the  M coach-office.     The 

name  upon  the  cards  was  Mrs.  Graham,  which  appellation  I 
mean  henceforth  to  adopt.  My  mother's  maiden  name  was 
Graham,  and  therefore  I  fancy  I  have  some  claim  to  it,  and 
prefer  it  to  any  other,  except  my  own,  which  I  dare  not 
resume. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

OCTOBER  24TH. — Thank  heaven,  I  am  free  and  safe  at  last. 
Early  we  rose,  swiftly  and  quietly  dressed,  slowly  and 
stealthily  descended  to  the  hall,  where  Benson  stood  ready 
with  a  light,  to  open  the  door  and  fasten  it  after  us.  We 
were  obliged  to  let  one  man  into  our  secret  on  account  of 
the  boxes,  &c.  All  the  servants  were  but  too  well  acquainted 
with  their  master's  conduct,  and  either  Benson  or  John 
would  have  been  willing  to  serve  me ;  but  as  the  former  was 
more  staid  and  elderly,  and  a  crony  of  Rachel's  besides,  I  of 
course  directed  her  to  make  choice  of  him  as  her  assistant 
and  confidant  on  the  occasion,  as  far  as  necessity  demanded. 
I  only  hope  he  may  not  be  brought  into  trouble  thereby,  and 
only  wish  I  could  reward  him  for  the  perilous  service  he  was 
so  ready  to  undertake.  I  slipped  two  guineas  into  his  hand, 
by  way  of  remembrance,  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway,  hold- 
ing the  candle  to  light  our  departure,  with  a  tear  in  his 
honest  grey  eye,  and  a  host  of  good  wishes  depicted  on  his 
solemn  countenance.  Alas !  I  could  offer  no  more :  I  had 
barely  sufficient  remaining  for  the  probable  expenses  of  the 
journey. 

What  trembling  joy  it  was  when  the  little  wicket  closed 
behind  us,  as  we  issued  from  the  park !  Then,  for  one 
moment,  I  paused,  to  inhale  one  draught  of  that  cool,  bracing 
air,  and  venture  one  look  back  upon  the  house.  All  was 
dark  and  still:  no  light  glimmered  in  the  windows,  no 
wreath  of  smoke  obscured  the  stars  that  sparkled  above  it  in 
the  frosty  sky.  As  I  bade  farewell  for  ever  to  that  place, 
the  scene  of  so  much  guilt  and  misery,  I  felt  glad  that  I  had 
not  left  it  before,  for  now  there  was  no  doubt  about  the 


WILDFELL  HALL  395 

propriety  of  such  a  step — no  shadow  of  remorse  for  him  T 
left  behind.  There  was  nothing  to  disturb  my  joy  but  the 
fear  of  detection ;  and  every  step  removed  us  further  from 
the  chance  of  that. 

We  had  left  Grassdale  many  miles  behind  us  before  the 
round  red  sun  arose  to  welcome  our  deliverance  ;  and  if  any 
inhabitant  of  its  vicinity  had  chanced  to  see  us  then,  as  we 
bowled  along  on  the  top  of  the  coach,  I  scarcely  think  they 
would  have  suspected  our  identity.  As  I  intend  to  be 
taken  for  a  widow,  I  thought  it  advisable  to  enter  my  new 
abode  in  mourning :  I  was,  therefore,  attired  in  a  plain 
black  silk  dress  and  mantle,  a  black  veil  (which  I  kept  care- 
fully over  my  face  for  the  first  twenty  or  thirty  miles  of  the 
journey),  and  a  black  silk  bonnet,  which  I  had  been  con- 
strained to  borrow  of  Rachel,  for  want  of  such  an  article 
myself.  It  was  not  in  the  newest  fashion,  of  course  ;  but 
none  the  worse  for  that,  under  present  circumstances. 
Arthur  was  clad  in  his  plainest  clothes,  and  wrapped  in  a 
coarse  woollen  shawl ;  and  Eachel  was  muffled  in  a  grey 
cloak  and  hood  that  had  seen  better  days,  and  gave  her 
more  the  appearance  of  an  ordinary  though  decent  old 
woman,  than  of  a  lady's-maid. 

Oh,  what  delight  it  was  to  be  thus  seated  aloft,  rumbling 
along  the  broad,  sunshiny  road,  with  the  fresh  morning 
breeze  in  my  face,  surrounded  by  an  unknown  country,  all 
smiling — cheerfully,  gloriously  smiling  in  the  yellow  lustre 
of  those  early  beams;  with  my  darling  child  in  my  arms, 
almost  as  happy  as  myself,  and  my  faithful  friend  beside  me  : 
a  prison  and  despair  behind  me,  receding  further,  further 
back  at  every  clatter  of  the  horses'  feet ;  and  liberty  and 
hope  before !  I  could  hardly  refrain  from  praising  God 
aloud  for  my  deliverance,  or  astonishing  my  fellow-pas- 
sengers by  some  surprising  outburst  of  hilarity. 

But  the  journey  was  a  very  long  one,  and  we  were  all 
weary  enough  before  the  close  of  it.  It  was  far  into  the 

night  when  we  reached  the  town  of  L ,  and  still  we  were 

seven  miles  from  our  journey's  end  ;  and  there  was  no  more 


396  THE  TENANT  OF 

coaching,  nor  any  conveyance  to  be  had,  except  a  common 
cart,  and  that  with  the  greatest  difficulty,  for  half  the  town 
was  in  bed.  And  a  dreary  ride  we  had  of  it,  that  last  stage 
of  the  journey,  cold  and  weary  as  we  were ;  sitting  on  our 
boxes,  with  nothing  to  cling  to,  nothing  to  lean  against, 
slowly  dragged  and  cruelly  shaken  over  the  rough,  hilly 
roads.  But  Arthur  was  asleep  in  Rachel's  lap,  and  between 
us  we  managed  pretty  well  to  shield  him  from  the  cold  night 
air. 

At  last  we  began  to  ascend  a  terribly  steep  and  stony 
lane,  which,  in  spite  of  the  darkness,  Eachel  said  she 
remembered  well :  she  had  often  walked  there  with  me  in 
her  arms,  and  little  thought  to  come  again  so  many  years 
after,  under  such  circumstances  as  the  present.  Arthur 
being  now  awakened  by  the  jolting  and  the  stoppages,  we  all 
got  out  and  walked.  We  had  not  far  to  go;  but  what  if 
Frederick  should  not  have  received  my  letter?  or  if  he 
should  not  have  had  time  to  prepare  the  rooms  for  our 
reception,  and  we  should  find  them  all  dark,  damp,  and 
comfortless,  destitute  of  food,  fire,  and  furniture,  after  all  our 
toil? 

At  length  the  grim,  dark  pile  appeared  before  us.  The 
lane  conducted  us  round  by  the  back  way.  We  entered  the 
desolate  court,  and  in  breathless  anxiety  surveyed  the 
ruinous  mass.  Was  it  all  blackness  and  desolation  ?  No  ; 
one  faint  red  glimmer  cheered  us  from  a  window  where  the 
lattice  was  in  good  repair.  The  door  was  fastened,  but  after 
due  knocking  and  waiting,  and  some  parleying  with  a  voice 
from  an  upper  window,  we  were  admitted  by  an  old  woman 
who  had  been  commissioned  to  air  and  keep  the  house  till 
our  arrival,  into  a  tolerably  snug  little  apartment,  formerly 
the  scullery  of  the  mansion,  which  Frederick  had  now  fitted 
up  as  a  kitchen.  Here  she  procured  us  a  light,  roused  the 
fire  to  a  cheerful  blaze,  and  soon  prepared  a  simple  repast 
for  our  refreshment ;  while  we  disencumbered  ourselves  of 
our  travelling-gear,  and  took  a  hasty  survey  of  our  new 
abode.  Besides  the  kitchen,  there  were  two  bedrooms,  a 


WILDFELL  HALL  397 

good-sized  parlour,  and  another  smaller  one,  which  I 
destined  for  my  studio,  all  well  aired  and  seemingly  in  good 
repair,  but  only  partly  furnished  with  a  few  old  articles, 
chiefly  of  ponderous  black  oak,  the  veritable  ones  that  had 
been  there  before,  and  which  had  been  kept  as  antiquarian 
relics  in  my  brother's  present  residence,  and  now,  in  all 
haste,  transported  back  again. 

The  old  woman  brought  my  supper  and  Arthur's  into 
the  parlour,  and  told  me,  with  all  due  formality,  that  '  the 
master  desired  his  compliments  to  Mrs.  Graham,  and  he  had 
prepared  the  rooms  as  well  as  he  could  upon  so  short  a 
notice  ;  but  he  would  do  himself  the  pleasure  of  calling  upon 
her  to-morrow,  to  receive  her  further  commands.' 

I  was  glad  to  ascend  the  stern-looking  stone  staircase, 
and  lie  down  in  the  gloomy,  old-fashioned  bed,  beside  my 
little  Arthur.  He  was  asleep  in  a  minute ;  but,  weary  as  I 
was,  my  excited  feelings  and  restless  cogitations  kept  me 
awake  till  dawn  began  to  struggle  with  the  darkness ;  but 
sleep  was  sweet  and  refreshing  when  it  came,  and  the  waking 
was  delightful  beyond  expression.  It  was  little  Arthur  that 
roused  me,  with  his  gentle  kisses.  He  was  here,  then,  safely 
clasped  in  my  arms,  and  many  leagues  away  from  his 
unworthy  father !  Broad  daylight  illumined  the  apartment, 
for  the  sun  was  high  in  heaven,  though  obscured  by  rolling 
masses  of  autumnal  vapour. 

The  scene,  indeed,  was  not  remarkably  cheerful  in  itself, 
either  within  or  without.  The  large  bare  room,  with  its  grim 
old  furniture,  the  narrow,  latticed  windows,  revealing  the 
dull,  grey  sky  above  and  the  desolate  wilderness  below, 
where  the  dark  stone  walls  and  iron  gate,  the  rank  growth 
of  grass  and  weeds,  and  the  hardy  evergreens  of  preternatural 
forms,  alone  remained  to  tell  that  there  had  been  once  a 
garden, — and  the  bleak  and  barren  fields  beyond  might  have 
struck  me  as  gloomy  enough  at  another  time  ;  but  now,  each 
separate  object  seemed  to  echo  back  my  own  exhilarating 
sense  of  hope  and  freedom  :  indefinite  dreams  of  the  far  past 
and  bright  anticipations  of  the  future  seemed  to  greet  me  at 


398  THE  TENANT   OF 

every  turn.  I  should  rejoice  with  more  security,  to  be  sure, 
had  the  broad  sea  rolled  between  my  present  and  my  former 
homes;  but  surely  in  this  lonely  spot  I  might  remain 
unknown  ;  and  then  I  had  my  brother  here  to  cheer  my 
solitude  with  his  occasional  visits. 

He  came  that  morning ;  and  I  have  had  several  interviews 
with  him  since ;  but  he  is  obliged  to  be  very  cautious  when 
and  how  he  comes ;  not  even  his  servants  or  his  best  friends 
must  know  of  his  visits  to  Wildfell — except  on  such  occasions 
as  a  landlord  might  be  expected  to  call  upon  a  stranger 
tenant — lest  suspicion  should  be  excited  against  me,  whether 
of  the  truth  or  of  some  slanderous  falsehood. 

I  have  now  been  here  nearly  a  fortnight,  and,  but  for  one 
disturbing  care,  the  haunting  dread  of  discovery,  I  am 
comfortably  settled  in  my  new  home  :  Frederick  has  supplied 
me  with  all  requisite  furniture  and  painting  materials : 
Eachel  has  sold  most  of  my  clothes  for  me,  in  a  distant  town, 
and  procured  me  a  wardrobe  more  suitable  to  my  present 
position  :  I  have  a  second-hand  piano,  and  a  tolerably  well- 
stocked  bookcase  in  my  parlour ;  and  my  other  room  has 
assumed  quite  a  professional,  business-like  appearance 
already.  I  am  working  hard  to  repay  my  brother  for  all  his 
expenses  on  my  account ;  not  that  there  is  the  slightest 
necessity  for  anything  of  the  kind,  but  it  pleases  me  to  do 
so :  I  shall  have  so  much  more  pleasure  in  my  labour,  my 
earnings,  my  frugal  fare,  and  household  economy,  when  I 
know  that  I  am  paying  my  way  honestly,  and  that  what  little 
I  possess  is  legitimately  all  my  own  ;  and  that  no  one  suffers 
for  my  folly — in  a  pecuniary  way  at  least.  I  shall  make 
him  take  the  last  penny  I  owe  him,  if  I  can  possibly  effect 
it  without  offending  him  too  deeply.  I  have  a  few  pictures 
already  done,  for  I  told  Rachel  to  pack  up  all  I  had ;  and 
she  executed  her  commission  but  too  well — for  among  the 
rest,  she  put  up  a  portrait  of  Mr.  Huntingdon  that  I  had 
painted  in  the  first  year  of  my  marriage.  It  struck  me  with 
dismay,  at  the  moment,  when  I  took  it  from  the  box  and 
beheld  those  eyes  fixed  upon  me  in  their  mocking  mirth,  as 


WILDFELL  HALL  399 

if  exulting  still  in  his  power  to  control  my  fate,  and  deriding 
my  efforts  to  escape. 

How  widely  different  had  been  my  feelings  in  painting 
that  portrait  to  what  they  now  were  in  looking  upon  it ! 
How  I  had  studied  and  toiled  to  produce  something,  as  I 
thought,  worthy  of  the  original !  what  mingled  pleasure  and 
dissatisfaction  I  had  had   in  the  result   of  my  labours ! — 
pleasure  for  the  likeness  I  had  caught ;  dissatisfaction,  because 
I  had  not  made  it  handsome  enough.     Now,  I  see  no  beauty 
in  it — nothing  pleasing  in  any  part  of  its  expression;  and 
yet  it  is  far  handsomer  and  far  more  agreeable — far  less  re- 
pulsive I  should  rather  say — than  he  is  now :  for  these  six 
years  have  wrought  almost  as  great  a  change  upon  himself  as 
on  my  feelings  regarding  him.     The  frame,  however,  is  hand- 
some enough  ;  it  will  serve  for  another  painting.     The  picture 
itself  I  have  not  destroyed,  as  I  had  first  intended  ;  I  have  put 
it  aside ;  not,  I  think,  from  any  lurking  tenderness  for  the 
memory  of  past  affection,  nor  yet  to  remind  me  of  my  former 
folly,  but  chiefly  that  I  may  compare  my  son's  features  and 
countenance  with  this,  as  he  grows  up,  and  thus  be  enabled 
to  judge  how  much  or  how  little  he  resembles  his  father — if 
I  may  be  allowed  to  keep  him  with  me  still,  and  never  to 
behold   that   father's   face  again — a  blessing  I  hardly  dare 
reckon  upon. 

It  seems  Mr.  Huntingdon  is  making  every  exertion  to 
discover  the  place  of  my  retreat.  He  has  been  in  person  to 
Staningley,  seeking  redress  for  his  grievances — expecting  to 
hear  of  his  victims,  if  not  to  find  them  there— and  has  told  so 
many  lies,  and  with  such  unblushing  coolness,  that  my  uncle 
more  than  half  believes  him,  and  strongly  advocates  my  going 
back  to  him  and  being  friends  again.  But  my  aunt  knows 
better  :  she  is  too  cool  and  cautious,  and  too  well  acquainted 
with  both  my  husband's  character  and  my  own  to  be  imposed 
upon  by  any  specious  falsehoods  the  former  could  invent. 
But  he  does  not  want  me  back  ;  he  wants  my  child ;  and 
gives  my  friends  to  understand  that  if  I  prefer  living  apart 
from  him,  he  will  indulge  the  whim  and  let  me  do  so 


400  THE  TENANT   OF 

unmolested,  and  even  settle  a  reasonable  allowance  on  me, 
provided  I  will  immediately  deliver  up  his  son.  But  heaven 
help  me  !  I  am  not  going  to  sell  my  child  for  gold,  though  it 
were  to  save  both  him  and  me  from  starving :  it  would  be 
better  that  he  should  die  with  me  than  that  he  should  live 
with  his  father. 

Frederick  showed  me  a  letter  he  had  received  from  that 
gentleman,  full  of  cool  impudence  such  as  would  astonish  any 
one  who  did  not  know  him,  but  such  as,  I  am  convinced,  none 
would  know  better  how  to  answer  than  my  brother.  He  gave 
me  no  account  of  his  reply,  except  to  tell  me  that  he  had  not 
acknowledged  his  acquaintance  with  my  place  of  refuge,  but 
rather  left  it  to  be  inferred  that  it  was  quite  unknown  to  him, 
by  saying  it  was  useless  to  apply  to  him,  or  any  other  of  my 
relations,  for  information  on  the  subject,  as  it  appeared  I  had 
been  driven  to  such  extremity  that  I  had  concealed  my  retreat 
even  from  my  best  friends ;  but  that  if  he  had  known  it,  or 
should  at  any  time  be  made  aware  of  it,  most  certainly  Mr. 
Huntingdon  would  be  the  last  person  to  whom  he  should 
communicate  the  intelligence  ;  and  that  he  need  not  trouble 
himself  to  bargain  for  the  child,  for  he  (Frederick)  fancied  he 
knew  enough  of  his  sister  to  enable  him  to  declare,  that 
wherever  she  might  be,  or  however  situated,  no  consideration 
would  induce  her  to  deliver  him  up. 

30th. — Alas  !  my  kind  neighbours  will  not  let  me  alone. 
By  some  means  they  have  ferreted  me  out,  and  I  have  had 
to  sustain  visits  from  three  different  families,  all  more  or  less 
bent  upon  discovering  who  and  what  I  am,  whence  I  came, 
and  why  I  have  chosen  such  a  home  as  this.  Their  society 
is  unnecessary  to  me,  to  say  the  least,  and  their  curiosity 
annoys  and  alarms  me :  if  I  gratify  it,  it  may  lead  to  the 
ruin  of  my  son,  and  if  I  am  too  mysterious  it  will  only  excite 
their  suspicions,  invite  conjecture,  and  rouse  them  to  greater 
exertions — and  perhaps  be  the  means  of  spreading  my  fame 
from  parish  to  parish,  till  it  reach  the  ears  of  some  one  who 
will  carry  it  to  the  Lord  of  Grassdale  Manor. 

I  shall  be  expected   to  return  their  calls,  but  if,  upon 


WILDFELL  HALL  401 

inquiry,  I  find  that  any  of  them  live  too  far  away  for  Arthur  to 
accompany  me,  they  must  expect  in  vain  for  a  while,  for  I  can- 
not bear  to  leave  him,  unless  it  be  to  go  to  church,  and  I  have 
not  attempted  that  yet :  for — it  may  be  foolish  weakness, 
but  I  am  under  such  constant  dread  of  his  being  snatched 
away,  that  I  am  never  easy  when  he  is  not  by  my  side ;  and 
I  fear  these  nervous  terrors  would  so  entirely  disturb  my 
devotions,  that  I  should  obtain  no  benefit  from  the  attend- 
ance. I  mean,  however,  to  make  the  experiment  next 
Sunday,  and  oblige  myself  to  leave  him  in  charge  of  Eachel 
for  a  few  hours.  It  will  be  a  hard  task,  but  surely  no 
imprudence ;  and  the  vicar  has  been  to  scold  me  for  my 
neglect  of  the  ordinances  of  religion.  I  had  no  sufficient 
excuse  to  offer,  and  I  promised,  if  all  were  well,  he  should 
see  me  in  my  pew  next  Sunday  ;  for  I  do  not  wish  to  be  set 
down  as  an  infidel ;  and,  besides,  I  know  I  should  derive 
great  comfort  and  benefit  from  an  occasional  attendance  at 
public  worship,  if  I  could  only  have  faith  and  fortitude  to 
compose  my  thoughts  in  conformity  with  the  solemn  occasion, 
and  forbid  them  to  be  for  ever  dwelling  on  my  absent  child, 
and  on  the  dreadful  possibility  of  finding  him  gone  when  I 
return  ;  and  surely  God  in  His  mercy  will  preserve  me  from 
so  severe  a  trial :  for  my  child's  own  sake,  if  not  for  mine, 
He  will  not  suffer  him  to  be  torn  away. 

November  3rd. — I  have  made  some  further  acquaintance 
with  my  neighbours.  The  fine  gentleman  and  beau  of  the 
parish  and  its  vicinity  (in  his  own  estimation,  at  least)  is  a 
young  .  .  . 


Here  it  ended.  The  rest  was  torn  away.  How  cruel,  just 
when  she  was  going  to  mention  me  !  for  I  could  not  doubt 
it  was  your  humble  servant  she  was  about  to  mention,  though 
not  very  favourably,  of  course.  I  could  tell  that,  as  well  by 
those  few  words  as  by  the  recollection  of  her  whole  aspect 
and  demeanour  towards  me  in  the  commencement  of  our 
acquaintance.  Well !  I  could  readilv  forgive  her  prejudice 


402  THE   TENANT  OF 

against  me,  and  her  hard  thoughts  of  our  sex  in  general, 
when  I  saw  to  what  brilliant  specimens  her  experience  had 
been  limited. 

Kespecting  me,  however,  she  had  long  since  seen  her 
error,  and  perhaps  fallen  into  another  in  the  opposite  ex- 
treme :  for  if,  at  first,  her  opinion  of  me  had  been  lower  than 
I  deserved,  I  was  convinced  that  now  my  deserts  were  lower 
than  her  opinion  ;  and  if  the  former  part  of  this  continuation 
had  been  torn  away  to  avoid  wounding  my  feelings,  perhaps 
the  latter  portion  had  been  removed  for  fear  of  ministering 
too  much  to  my  self-conceit.  At  any  rate,  I  would  have 
given  much  to  have  seen  it  all — to  have  witnessed  the 
gradual  change,  and  watched  the  progress  of  her  esteem  and 
friendship  for  me,  and  whatever  warmer  feeling  she  might 
have ;  to  have  seen  how  much  of  love  there  was  in  her  regard, 
and  how  it  had  grown  upon  her  in  spite  of  her  virtuous 

resolutions  and  strenuous  exertions  to but  no,  I  had  no 

right  to  see  it :  all  this  was  too  sacred  for  any  eyes  but  her 
own,  and  she  had  done  well  to  keep  it  from  me. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

WELL,  Halford,  what  do  you  think  of  all  this  ?  and  while 
you  read  it,  did  you  ever  picture  to  yourself  what  my  feel- 
ings would  probably  be  during  its  perusal?  Most  likely 
not ;  but  I  am  not  going  to  descant  upon  them  now  :  I  will 
only  make  this  acknowledgment,  little  honourable  as  it  may 
be  to  human  nature,  and  especially  to  myself, — that  the 
former  half  of  the  narrative  was,  to  me,  more  painful  than 
the  latter ;  not  that  I  was  at  all  insensible  to  Mrs.  Hunting- 
don's wrongs  or  unmoved  by  her  sufferings,  but,  I  must 
confess,  I  felt  a  kind  of  selfish  gratification  in  watching  her 
husband's  gradual  decline  in  her  good  graces,  and  seeing 
how  completely  he  extinguished  all  her  affection  at  last. 
The  effect  of  the  whole,  however,  in  spite  of  all  my 
sympathy  for  her,  and  my  fury  against  him,  was  to  relieve 
my  mind  of  an  intolerable  burden,  and  fill  my  heart  with 
joy,  as  if  some  friend  had  roused  me  from  a  dreadful  night- 
mare. 

It  was  now  near  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  for  my 
candle  had  expired  in  the  midst  of  my  perusal,  leaving  me 
no  alternative  but  to  get  another,  at  the  expense  of  alarm- 
ing the  house,  or  to  go  to  bed  and  wait  the  return  of  day- 
light. On  my  mother's  account,  I  chose  the  latter;  but 
how  willingly  I  sought  my  pillow,  and  how  much  sleep  it 
brought  me,  I  leave  you  to  imagine. 

At  the  first  appearance  of  dawn,  I  rose,  and  brought  the 
manuscript  to  the  window,  but  it  was  impossible  to  read  it 
yet.  I  devoted  half  an  hour  to  dressing,  and  then  returned 
to  it  again.  Now,  with  a  little  difficulty,  I  could  manage  ; 
and  with  intense  and  eager  interest,  I  devoured  the  remainder 


404  THE  TENANT  OF 

of  its  contents.  When  it  was  ended,  and  my  transient 
regret  at  its  abrupt  conclusion  was  over,  I  opened  the 
window  and  put  out  my  head  to  catch  the  cooling  breeze, 
and  imbibe  deep  draughts  of  the  pure  morning  air.  A 
splendid  morning  it  was ;  the  half-frozen  dew  lay  thick  on 
the  grass,  the  swallows  were  twittering  round  me,  the  rooks 
cawing,  and  cows  lowing  in  the  distance;  and  early  frost 
and  summer  sunshine  mingled  their  sweetness  in  the  air. 
But  I  did  not  think  of  that :  a  confusion  of  countless 
thoughts  and  varied  emotions  crowded  upon  me  while  I 
gazed  abstractedly  on  the  lovely  face  of  nature.  Soon, 
however,  this  chaos  of  thoughts  and  passions  cleared  away, 
giving  place  to  two  distinct  emotions  :  joy  unspeakable  that 
my  adored  Helen  was  all  I  wished  to  think  her — that  through 
the  noisome  vapours  of  the  world's  aspersions  and  my  own 
fancied  convictions,  her  character  shone  bright,  and  clear, 
and  stainless  as  that  sun  I  could  not  bear  to  look  on  ;  and 
shame  and  deep  remorse  for  my  own  conduct. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  I  hurried  over  to  Wildfell 
Hall.  Kachel  had  risen  many  degrees  in  my  estimation 
since  yesterday.  I  was  ready  to  greet  her  quite  as  an  old 
friend ;  but  every  kindly  impulse  was  checked  by  the  look  of 
cold  distrust  she  cast  upon  me  on  opening  the  door.  The 
old  virgin  had  constituted  herself  the  guardian  of  her  lady's 
honour,  I  suppose,  and  doubtless  she  saw  in  me  another  Mr. 
Hargrave,  only  the  more  dangerous  in  being  more  esteemed 
and  trusted  by  her  mistress. 

'  Missis  can't  see  any  one  to-day,  sir — she's  poorly,'  said 
she,  in  answer  to  my  inquiry  for  Mrs.  Graham. 

'  But  I  must  see  her,  Kachel,'  said  I,  placing  my  hand  on 
the  door  to  prevent  its  being  shut  against  me. 

'  Indeed,  sir,  you  can't,'  replied  she,  settling  her  counte- 
nance in  still  more  iron  frigidity  than  before. 

'  Be  so  good  as  to  announce  me.' 

'  It's  no  manner  of  use,  Mr.  Markham ;  she's  poorly,  I 
tell  you.' 

Just  in  time  to  prevent  me  from  committing  the  impro- 


WILDFELL  HALL  405 

priety  of  taking  the  citadel  by  storm,  and  pushing  forward 
unannounced,  an  inner  door  opened,  and  little  Arthur 
appeared  with  his  frolicsome  playfellow,  the  dog.  He  seized 
my  hand  between  both  his,  and  smilingly  drew  me  forward. 

1  Mamma  says  you're  to  come  in,  Mr.  Markham,"  said  he, 
1  and  I  am  to  go  out  and  play  with  Eover.' 

Eachel  retired  with  a  sigh,  and  I  stepped  into  the  parlour 
and  shut  the  door.  There,  before  the  fire-place,  stood  the 
tall,  graceful  figure,  wasted  with  many  sorrows.  I  cast  the 
manuscript  on  the  table,  and  looked  in  her  face.  Anxious 
and  pale,  it  was  turned  towards  me;  her  clear,  dark  eyes 
were  fixed  on  mine  with  a  gaze  so  intensely  earnest  that  they 
bound  me  like  a  spell. 

'  Have  you  looked  it  over  ? '  she  murmured.  The  spell 
was  broken. 

'  I've  read  it  through,'  said  I,  advancing  into  the  room, — 
'  and  I  want  to  know  if  you'll  forgive  me — if  you  can  forgive 
me?' 

She  did  not  answer,  but  her  eyes  glistened,  and  a  faint 
red  mantled  on  her  lip  and  cheek.  As  I  approached,  she 
abruptly  turned  away,  and  went  to  the  window.  It  was  not 
in  anger,  I  was  well  assured,  but  only  to  conceal  or  control 
her  emotion.  I  therefore  ventured  to  follow  and  stand 
beside  her  there, — but  not  to  speak.  She  gave  me  her  hand, 
without  turning  her  head,  and  murmured  in  a  voice  she 
strove  in  vain  to  steady, — '  Can  you  forgive  me  ? ' 

It  might  be  deemed  a  breach  of  trust,  I  thought,  to  con- 
vey that  lily  hand  to  my  lips,  so  I  only  gently  pressed  it 
between  my  own,  and  smilingly  replied, — '  I  hardly  can. 
You  should  have  told  me  this  before.  It  shows  a  want  of 
confidence ' 

'  Oh,  no,'  cried  she,  eagerly  interrupting  me ;  '  it  was  not 
that.  It  was  no  want  of  confidence  in  you ;  but  if  T  had 
told  you  anything  of  my  history,  I  must  have  told  you  all,  in 
order  to  excuse  my  conduct ;  and  I  might  well  shrink  from 
such  a  disclosure,  till  necessity  obliged  me  to  make  it.  But 
you  forgive  me  ? — I  have  done  very,  very  wrong,  I  know ; 


406  THE  TENANT  OF 

but,  as  usual,  I  have  reaped  the  bitter  fruits  of  my  own  error, 
— and  must  reap  them  to  the  end.' 

Bitter,  indeed,  was  the  tone  of  anguish,  repressed  by 
resolute  firmness,  in  which  this  was  spoken.  Now,  I  raised 
her  hand  to  my  lips,  and  fervently  kissed  it  again  and  again  ; 
for  tears  prevented  any  other  reply.  She  suffered  these  wild 
caresses  without  resistance  or  resentment;  then,  suddenly 
turning  from  me,  she  paced  twice  or  thrice  through  the  room. 
I  knew  by  the  contraction  of  her  brow,  the  tight  compression 
of  her  lips,  and  wringing  of  her  hands,  that  meantime  a 
violent  conflict  between  reason  and  passion  was  silently 
passing  within.  At  length  she  paused  before  the  empty  fire- 
place, and  turning  to  me,  said  calmly — if  that  might  be 
called  calmness  which  was  so  evidently  the  result  of  a  violent 
effort, — '  Now,  Gilbert,  you  must  leave  me — not  this  moment, 
but  soon — and  you  must  never  come  again.' 

'  Never  again,  Helen  ?  just  when  I  love  you  more  than 
ever.' 

'  For  that  very  reason,  if  it  be  so,  we  should  not  meet 
again.  I  thought  this  interview  was  necessary — at  least,  I 
persuaded  myself  it  was  so — that  we  might  severally  ask  and 
receive  each  other's  pardon  for  the  past ;  but  there  can  be 
no  excuse  for  another.  I  shall  leave  this  place,  as  soon  as  I 
have  means  to  seek  another  asylum ;  but  our  intercourse 
must  end  here.' 

'  End  here  ! '  echoed  I ;  and  approaching  the  high,  carved 
chimney-piece,  I  leant  my  hand  against  its  heavy  mouldings, 
and  dropped  my  forehead  upon  it  in  silent,  sullen  despond- 
ency. 

1  You  must  not  come  again/  continued  she.  There  was  a 
slight  tremor  in  her  voice,  but  I  thought  her  whole  manner 
was  provokingly  composed,  considering  the  dreadful  sentence 
she  pronounced.  '  You  must  know  why  I  tell  you  so,'  she 
resumed ;  '  and  you  must  see  that  it  is  better  to  part  at  once  : 
— if  it  be  hard  to  say  adieu  for  ever,  you  ought  to  help  me.' 
She  paused.  I  did  not  answer.  '  Will  you  promise  not  to 
come  ? — if  you  won't,  and  if  you  do  come  here  again,  you  will 


WILDFELL   HALL  407 

drive  me  away  before  I  know  where  to  find  another  place 
of  refuge — or  how  to  seek  it.' 

'  Helen,'  said  I,  turning  impatiently  towards  her,  '  I  can- 
not discuss  the  matter  of  eternal  separation  calmly  and 
dispassionately  as  you  can  do.  It  is  no  question  of  mere 
expedience  with  me ;  it  is  a  question  of  life  and  death  ! ' 

She  was  silent.  Her  pale  lips  quivered,  and  her  fingers 
trembled  with  agitation,  as  she  nervously  entwined  them  in 
the  hair-chain  to  which  was  appended  her  small  gold  watch 
— the  only  thing  of  value  she  had  permitted  herself  to  keep. 
I  had  said  an  unjust  and  cruel  thing;  but  I  must  needs 
follow  if  up  with  something  worse. 

'  But,  Helen  ! '  I  began  in  a  soft,  low  tone,  not  daring  to 
raise  my  eyes  to  her  face,  '  that  man  is  not  your  husband  : 

in  the  sight  of  heaven  he  has  forfeited  all  claim  to ' 

She  seized  my  arm  with  a  grasp  of  startling  energy. 

'  Gilbert,  don't ! '  she  cried,  in  a  tone  that  would  have 
pierced  a  heart  of  adamant.  'For  God's  sake,  don't  you 
attempt  these  arguments  !  No  fiend  could  torture  me  like 
this  ! ' 

'  I  won't,  I  won't ! '  said  I,  gently  laying  my  hand  on  hers ; 
almost  as  much  alarmed  at  her  vehemence  as  ashamed  of  my 
own  misconduct. 

'Instead  of  acting  like  a  true  friend,'  continued  she, 
breaking  from  me,  and  throwing  herself  into  the  old  arm-chair, 
'  and  helping  me  with  all  your  might — or  rather  taking  your 
own  part  in  the  struggle  of  right  against  passion  —you  leave 
all  the  burden  to  me ; — and  not  satisfied  with  that,  you  do 

your  utmost  to  fight  against  me — when  you  know  that  I ' 

she  paused,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  handkerchief. 

'  Forgive  me,  Helen  ! '  pleaded  I.  '  I  will  never  utter 
another  word  on  the  subject.  But  may  we  not  still  meet  as 
friends  ? ' 

'  It  will  not  do,'  she  replied,  mournfully  shaking  her 
head  ;  and  then  she  raised  her  eyes  to  mine,  with  a  mildly 
reproachful  look  that  seemed  to  say,  '  You  must  know  that 
as  well  as  I.' 


408  THE  TENANT  OF 

'Then  what  must  we  do?'  cried  I,  passionately  But 
immediately  I  added  in  a  quieter  tone — 'I'll  do  whatever 
you  desire  ;  only  don't  say  that  this  meeting  is  to  be  our  last.' 

'  And  why  not  ?  Don't  you  know  that  every  time  we  meet 
the  thoughts  of  the  final  parting  will  become  more  painful  ? 
Don't  you  feel  that  every  interview  makes  us  dearer  to  each 
other  than  the  last  ?  ' 

The  utterance  of  this  last  question  was  hurried  and  low, 
and  the  downcast  eyes  and  burning  blush  too  plainly  showed 
that  she,  at  least,  had  felt  it.  It  was  scarcely  prudent  to 
make  such  an  admission,  or  to  add — as  she  presently  did — '  I 
have  power  to  bid  you  go,  now :  another  time  it  might  be 
different,' — but  I  was  not  base  enough  to  attempt  to  take 
advantage  of  her  candour. 

'  But  we  may  write,'  I  timidly  suggested.  '  You  will  not 
deny  me  that  consolation  ? ' 

'  We  can  hear  of  each  other  through  my  brother.' 

'  Your  brother ! '  A  pang  of  remorse  and  shame  shot 
through  me.  She  had  not  heard  of  the  injury  he  had 
sustained  at  my  hands ;  and  I  had  not  the  courage  to  tell 
her.  '  Your  brother  will  not  help  us,'  I  said  :  '  he  would 
have  all  communion  between  us  to  be  entirely  at  an  end.' 

'  And  he  would  be  right,  I  suppose.  As  a  friend  of  both, 
he  would  wish  us  both  well ;  and  every  friend  would  tell  us 
it  was  our  interest,  as  well  as  our  duty,  to  forget  each  other, 
though  we  might  not  see  it  ourselves.  But  don't  be  afraid, 
Gilbert,'  she  added,  smiling  sadly  at  my  manifest  discom- 
posure ;  '  there  is  little  chance  of  my  forgetting  you.  But  I  did 
not  mean  that  Frederick  should  be  the  means  of  transmitting 
messages  between  us — only  that  each  might  know,  through 
him,  of  the  other's  welfare  ; — and  more  than  this  ought  not 
to  be  :  for  you  are  young,  Gilbert,  and  you  ought  to  marry— 
and  will  some  time,  though  you  may  think  it  impossible 
now :  and  though  I  hardly  can  say  I  wish  you  to  forget  me, 
I  know  it  is  right  that  you  should,  both  for  your  own 
happiness,  and  that  of  your  future  wife  ; — and  therefore  I 
must  and  will  wish  it,'  she  added  resolutely. 


WILDFELL  HALL  409 

'  And  you  are  young  too,  Helen,"  I  boldly  replied ; 
'  and  when  that  profligate  scoundrel  has  run  through 
his  career,  you  will  give  your  hand  to  me — I'll  wait  till 
then.' 

But  she  would  not  leave  me  this  support.  Independently 
of  the  moral  evil  of  basing  our  hopes  upon  the  death  of  another, 
who,  if  unfit  for  this  world,  was  at  least  no  less  so  for  the 
next,  and  whose  amelioration  would  thus  become  our  bane 
and  his  greatest  transgression  our  greatest  benefit, — she 
maintained  it  to  be  madness  :  many  men  of  Mr.  Huntingdon's 
habits  had  lived  to  a  ripe  though  miserable  old  age.  '  And 
if  I,'  said  she,  '  am  young  in  years,  I  am  old  in  sorrow ;  but 
even  if  trouble  should  fail  to  kill  me  before  vice  destroys  him, 
think,  if  he  reached  but  fifty  years  or  so,  would  you  wait 
twenty  or  fifteen — in  vague  uncertainty  and  suspense — 
through  all  the  prime  of  youth  and  manhood — and  marry 
at  last  a  woman  faded  and  worn  as  I  shall  be — without  ever 
having  seen  me  from  this  day  to  that  ? — You  would  not,'  she 
continued,  interrupting  my  earnest  protestations  of  un- 
failing constancy, — '  or  if  you  would,  you  should  not.  Trust 
me,  Gilbert ;  in  this  matter  I  know  better  than  you.  You 
think  me  cold  and  stony-hearted,  and  you  may,  but ' 

1 1  don't,  Helen.' 

'  Well,  never  mind :  you  might  if  you  would  :  but  I  have 
not  spent  my  solitude  in  utter  idleness,  and  I  am  not 
speaking  now  from  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  as  you  do. 
I  have  thought  of  all  these  matters  again  and  again  ;  I  have 
argued  these  questions  with  myself,  and  pondered  well  our 
past,  and  present,  and  future  career ;  and,  believe  me,  I  have 
come  to  the  right  conclusion  at  last.  Trust  my  words  rather 
than  your  own  feelings  now,  and  in  a  few  years  you  will  see 
that  I  was  right — though  at  present  I  hardly  can  see  it 
myself,'  she  murmured  with  a  sigh  as  she  rested  her  head  on 
her  hand.  '  And  don't  argue  against  me  any  more  :  all  you 
can  say  has  been  already  said  by  my  own  heart  and  refuted 
by  my  reason.  It  was  hard  enough  to  combat  those 
suggestions  as  they  were  whispered  within  me ;  in  your 


410  THE  TENANT  OF 

mouth  they  are  ten  times  worse,  and  if  you  knew  how  much 
they  pain  me  you  would  cease  at  once,  I  know.  If  you  knew 
my  present  feelings,  you  would  even  try  to  relieve  them  at 
the  expense  of  your  own.' 

'  I  will  go — in  a  minute,  if  that  can  relieve  you — and 
NEVER  return  ! '  said  I,  with  bitter  emphasis.  '  But,  if  we 
may  never  meet,  and  never  hope  to  meet  again,  is  it  a  crime 
to  exchange  our  thoughts  by  letter?  May  not  kindred 
spirits  meet,  and  mingle  in  communion,  whatever  be  the  fate 
and  circumstances  of  their  earthly  tenements  ? ' 

'  They  may,  they  may  !  '  cried  she,  with  a  momentary 
burst  of  glad  enthusiasm.  '  I  thought  of  that  too,  Gilbert, 
but  I  feared  to  mention  it,  because  I  feared  you  would  not 
understand  my  views  upon  the  subject.  I  fear  it  even  now — 
I  fear  any  kind  friend  would  tell  us  we  are  both  deluding 
ourselves  with  the  idea  of  keeping  up  a  spiritual  intercourse 
without  hope  or  prospect  of  anything  further — without 
fostering  vain  regrets  and  hurtful  aspirations,  and  feeding 
thoughts  that  should  be  sternly  and  pitilessly  left  to  perish  of 
inanition.' 

'  Never  mind  our  kind  friends  :  if  they  can  part  our  bodies, 
it  is  enough  ;  in  God's  name,  let  them  not  sunder  our  souls  ! ' 
cried  I,  in  terror  lest  she  should  deem  it  her  duty  to  deny  us 
this  last  remaining  consolation. 

'  But  no  letters  can  pass  between  us  here,'  said  she, 
'  without  giving  fresh  food  for  scandal ;  and  when  I  departed, 
I  had  intended  that  my  new  abode  should  be  unknown  to 
you  as  to  the  rest  of  the  world ;  not  that  I  should  doubt  your 
word  if  you  promised  not  to  visit  me,  but  I  thought  you 
would  be  more  tranquil  in  your  own  mind  if  you  knew  you 
could  not  do  it,  and  likely  to  find  less  difficulty  in 
abstracting  yourself  from  me  if  you  could  not  picture  my 
situation  to  your  mind.  But  listen,'  said  she,  smilingly 
putting  up  her  finger  to  check  my  impatient  reply :  '  in  six 
months  you  shall  hear  from  Frederick  precisely  where  I  am  ; 
and  if  you  still  retain  your  wish  to  write  to  me,  and  think 
you  can  maintain  a  correspondence  all  thought,  all  spirit — 


WILDFELL  HALL  411 

such  as  disembodied  souls  or  unimpassioned  friends,  at  least, 
might  hold, — write,  and  I  will  answer  you.' 

'  Six  months  ! ' 

'  Yes,  to  give  your  present  ardour  time  to  cool,  and  try 
the  truth  and  constancy  of  your  soul's  love  for  mine.  And 
now,  enough  has  been  said  between  us.  Why  can't  we  part 
at  once  ? '  exclaimed  she,  almost  wildly,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  as  she  suddenly  rose  from  her  chair,  with  her  hands 
resolutely  clasped  together.  I  thought  it  was  my  duty  to 
go  without  delay ;  and  I  approached  and  half  extended  my 
hand  as  if  to  take  leave — she  grasped  it  in  silence.  But  this 
thought  of  final  separation  was  too  intolerable  :  it  seemed  to 
squeeze  the  blood  out  of  my  heart ;  and  my  feet  were  glued 
to  the  floor. 

'  And  must  we  never  meet  again  ?  '  I  murmured,  in  the 
anguish  of  my  soul. 

1  We  shall  meet  in  heaven.  Let  us  think  of  that,'  said 
she  in  a  tone  of  desperate  calmness ;  but  her  eyes  glittered 
wildly,  and  her  face  was  deadly  pale. 

'  But  not  as  we  are  now,'  I  could  not  help  replying.  '  It 
gives  me  little  consolation  to  think  I  shall  next  behold  you 
as  a  disembodied  spirit,  or  an  altered  being,  with  a  frame 
perfect  and  glorious,  but  not  like  this  ! — and  a  heart,  perhaps, 
entirely  estranged  from  me.' 

'  No,  Gilbert,  there  is  perfect  love  in  heaven  ! ' 

'  So  perfect,  I  suppose,  that  it  soars  above  distinctions, 
and  you  will  have  no  closer  sympathy  with  me  than  with 
any  one  of  the  ten  thousand  thousand  angels  and  the 
innumerable  multitude  of  happy  spirits  round  us.' 

1  Whatever  I  am,  you  will  be  the  same,  and,  therefore, 
cannot  possibly  regret  it ;  and  whatever  that  change  may  be 
we  know  it  must  be  for  the  better.' 

1  But  if  I  am  to  be  so  changed  that  I  shall  cease  to  adore 
you  with  my  whole  heart  and  soul,  and  love  you  beyond 
every  other  creature,  I  shall  not  be  myself ;  and  though,  if 
ever  I  win  heaven  at  all,  I  must,  I  know,  be  infinitely 
better  and  happier  than  I  am  now,  my  earthly  nature  cannot 


412  THE   TENANT  OF 

rejoice  in  the  anticipation  of  such  beatitude,  from  which  itself 
and  its  chief  joy  must  be  excluded.' 

1  Is  your  love  all  earthly,  then  ? ' 

'  No,  but  I  am  supposing  we  shall  have  no  more  intimate 
communion  with  each  other  than  with  the  rest.1 

'  If  so,  it  will  be  because  we  love  them  more,  and  not  each 
other  less.  Increase  of  love  brings  increase  of  happiness, 
when  it  is  mutual,  and  pure  as  that  will  be.' 

'  But  can  you,  Helen,  contemplate  with  delight  this 
prospect  of  losing  me  in  a  sea  of  glory  ? ' 

'  I  own  I  cannot ;  but  we  know  not  that  it  will  be  so ; — 
and  I  do  know  that  to  regret  the  exchange  of  earthly  pleasures 
for  the  joys  of  heaven,  is  as  if  the  grovelling  caterpillar  should 
lament  that  it  must  one  day  quit  the  nibbled  leaf  to  soar  aloft 
and  flutter  through  the  air,  roving  at  will  from  flower  to 
flower,  sipping  sweet  honey  from  their  cups,  or  basking  in 
their  sunny  petals.  If  these  little  creatures  knew  how  great 
a  change  awaited  them,  no  doubt  they  would  regret  it ;  but 
would  not  all  such  sorrow  be  misplaced  ?  And  if  that 
illustration  will  not  move  you,  here  is  another : — We  are 
children  now ;  we  feel  as  children,  and  we  understand  as 
children ;  and  when  we  are  told  that  men  and  women  do  not 
play  with  toys,  and  that  our  companions  will  one  day  weary 
of  the  trivial  sports  and  occupations  that  interest  them  and 
us  so  deeply  now,  we  cannot  help  being  saddened  at  the 
thoughts  of  such  an  alteration,  because  we  cannot  conceive 
that  as  we  grow  up  our  own  minds  will  become  so  enlarged 
and  elevated  that  we  ourselves  shall  then  regard  as  trifling 
those  objects  and  pursuits  we  now  so  fondly  cherish,  and 
that,  though  our  companions  will  no  longer  join  us  in  those 
childish  pastimes,  they  will  drink  with  us  at  other  fountains 
of  delight,  and  mingle  their  souls  with  ours  in  higher  aims 
and  nobler  occupations  beyond  our  present  comprehension, 
but  not  less  deeply  relished  or  less  truly  good  for  that,  while 
yet  both  we  and  they  remain  essentially  the  same  individuals 
as  before.  But,  Gilbert,  can  you  really  derive  no  consolation 
from  the  thought  that  we  may  meet  together  where  there  is 


WILDFELL  HALL  413 

no  more  pain  and  sorrow,  no  more  striving  against  sin,  and 
struggling  of  the  spirit  against  the  flesh  ;  where  both  will 
behold  the  same  glorious  truths,  and  drink  exalted  and 
supreme  felicity  from  the  same  fountain  of  light  and  goodness 
—that  Being  whom  both  will  worship  with  the  same  intensity 
of  holy  ardour — and  where  pure  and  happy  creatures  both 
will  love  with  the  same  divine  affection  ?  If  you  cannot, 
never  write  to  me  !  ' 

'  Helen,  I  can  !  if  faith  would  never  fail.' 

'  Now,  then,'  exclaimed   she,  '  while  this  hope  is  strong 

within  us 

'  We  will  part,'  I  cried.     '  You  shall  not  have  the  pain  oi 

another  effort  to  dismiss  me.     I  will  go  at  once ;  but ' 

I  did  not  put  my  request  in  words  :  she  understood  it 
instinctively,  and  this  time  she  yielded  too— or  rather,  there 
was  nothing  so  deliberate  as  requesting  or  yielding  in  the 
matter :  there  was  a  sudden  impulse  that  neither  could 
resist.  One  moment  I  stood  and  looked  into  her  face,  the 
next  I  held  her  to  my  heart,  and  we  seemed  to  grow  together 
in  a  close  embrace  from  which  no  physical  or  mental  force 
could  rend  us.  A  whispered  '  God  bless  you  ! '  and  '  Go — 
go  ! '  was  all  she  said ;  but  while  she  spoke  she  held  me  so 
fast  that,  without  violence,  I  could  not  have  obeyed  her.  At 
length,  however,  by  some  heroic  effort,  we  tore  ourselves  apart, 
and  I  rushed  from  the  house. 

I  have  a  confused  remembrance  of  seeing  little  Arthur 
running  up  the  garden-walk  to  meet  me,  and  of  bolting  over 
the  wall  to  avoid  him — and  subsequently  running  down  the 
steep  fields,  clearing  the  stone  fences  and  hedges  as  they  came 
in  my  way,  till  I  got  completely  out  of  sight  of  the  old  hall 
and  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill ;  and  then  of  long  hours 
spent  in  bitter  tears  and  lamentations,  and  melancholy 
musings  in  the  lonely  valley,  with  the  eternal  music  in  my  ears, 
of  the  west  wind  rushing  through  the  overshadowing  trees, 
and  the  brook  babbling  and  gurgling  along  its  stony  bed ;  my 
eyes,  for  the  most  part,  vacantly  fixed  on  the  deep,  chequered 
shades  restlessly  playing  over  the  bright  sunny  grass  at  my 


414  THE   TENANT  OF 

feet,  where  now  and  then  a  withered  leaf  or  two  would  come 
dancing  to  share  the  revelry  ;  but  my  heart  was  away  up  the 
hill  in  that  dark  room  where  she  was  weeping  desolate 
and  alone — she  whom  I  was  not  to  comfort,  not  to  see  again, 
till  years  or  suffering  had  overcome  us  both,  and  torn  our 
spirits  from  their  perishing  abodes  of  clay. 

There  was  little  business  done  that  day,  you  may  be  sure. 
The  farm  was  abandoned  to  the  labourers,  and  the  labourers 
were  left  to  their  own  devices.  But  one  duty  must  be 
attended  to  ;  I  had  not  forgotten  my  assault  upon  Frederick 
Lawrence  ;  and  I  must  see  him  to  apologise  for  the  unhappy 
deed.  I  would  fain  have  put  it  off  till  the  morrow;  but 
what  if  he  should  denounce  me  to  his  sister  in  the  meantime  ? 
No,  no !  I  must  ask  his  pardon  to-day,  and  entreat  him  to 
be  lenient  in  his  accusation,  if  the  revelation  must  be  made. 
I  deferred  it,  however,  till  the  evening,  when  my  spirits  were 
more  composed,  and  when — oh,  wonderful  perversity  of 
human  nature ! — some  faint  germs  of  indefinite  hopes  were 
beginning  to  rise  in  my  mind ;  not  that  I  intended  to  cherish 
them,  after  all  that  had  been  said  on  the  subject,  but  there 
they  must  lie  for  a  while,  uncrushed  though  not  encouraged, 
till  I  had  learnt  to  live  without  them. 

Arrived  at  Woodford,  the  young  squire's  abode,  I  found 
no  little  difficulty  in  obtaining  admission  to  his  presence. 
The  servant  that  opened  the  door  told  me  his  master  was 
very  ill,  and  seemed  to  think  it  doubtful  whether  he  would 
be  able  to  see  me.  I  was  not  going  to  be  baulked,  however. 
I  waited  calmly  in  the  hall  to  be  announced,  but  inwardly 
determined  to  take  no  denial.  The  message  was  such  as  I 
expected — a  polite  intimation  that  Mr.  Lawrence  could  see 
no  one  ;  he  was  feverish,  and  must  not  be  disturbed. 

'  I  shall  not  disturb  him  long,'  said  I ;  '  but  I  must  see 
him  for  a  moment :  it  is  on  business  of  importance  that  I 
wish  to  speak  to  him.' 

'I'll  tell  him,  sir,'  said  the  man.  And  I  advanced 
further  into  the  hall  and  followed  him  nearly  to  the  door  of 
the  apartment  where  his  master  was — for  it  seemed  he  was 


WILDFELL  HALL  415 

not  in  bed.  The  answer  returned  was  that  Mr.  Lawrence 
hoped  I  would  be  so  good  as  to  leave  a  message  or  a  note 
with  the  servant,  as  he  could  attend  to  no  business  at 
present. 

'  He  may  as  well  see  me  as  you,'  said  I ;  and,  stepping 
past  the  astonished  footman,  I  boldly  rapped  at  the  door, 
entered,  and  closed  it  behind  me.  The  room  was  spacious 
and  handsomely  furnished — very  comfortably,  too,  for  a 
bachelor.  A  clear,  red  fire  was  burning  in  the  polished 
grate :  a  superannuated  greyhound,  given  up  to  idleness  and 
good  living,  lay  basking  before  it  on  the  thick,  soft  rug,  on 
one  corner  of  which,  beside  the  sofa,  sat  a  smart  young 
springer,  looking  wistfully  up  in  its  master's  face — perhaps 
asking  permission  to  share  his  couch,  or,  it  might  be,  only 
soliciting  a  caress  from  his  hand  or  a  kind  word  from  his 
lips.  The  invalid  himself  looked  very  interesting  as  he  lay 
reclining  there,  in  his  elegant  dressing-gown,  with  a  silk 
handkerchief  bound  across  his  temples.  His  usually  pale 
face  was  flushed  and  feverish ;  his  eyes  were  half  closed, 
until  he  became  sensible  of  my  presence — and  then  he 
opened  them  wide  enough  :  one  hand  was  thrown  listlessly 
over  the  back  of  the  sofa,  and  held  a  small  volume,  with 
which,  apparently,  he  had  been  vainly  attempting  to  beguile 
the  weary  hours.  He  dropped  it,  however,  in  his  start  of 
indignant  surprise  as  I  advanced  into  the  room  and  stood 
before  him  on  the  rug.  He  raised  himself  on  his  pillows, 
and  gazed  upon  me  with  equal  degrees  of  nervous  horror, 
anger,  and  amazement  depicted  on  his  countenance. 

'  Mr.  Markham,  I  scarcely  expected  this  ! '  he  said ;  and 
the  blood  left  his  cheek  as  he  spoke. 

'  I  know  you  didn't,'  answered  I ;  '  but  be  quiet  a  minute, 
and  I'll  tell  you  what  I  came  for.'  Unthinkingly,  I  advanced 
a  step  or  two  nearer.  He  winced  at  my  approach,  with  an 
expression  of  aversion  and  instinctive  physical  fear  anything 
but  conciliatory  to  my  feelings.  I  stepped  back,  however. 

Make  your  story  a  short  one,'  said  he,  putting  his  hand 
on  the  small  silver  bell  that  stood  on  the  table  beside  him, 


416  THE   TENANT  OF 

'  or  I  shall  be  obliged  to  call  for  assistance.  I  am  in  no 
state  to  bear  your  brutalities  now,  or  your  presence  either.' 
And  in  truth  the  moisture  started  from  his  pores  and  stood 
on  his  pale  forehead  like  dew. 

Such  a  reception  was  hardly  calculated  to  diminish  the 
difficulties  of  my  unenviable  task.  It  must  be  performed 
however,  in  some  fashion ;  and  so  I  plunged  into  it  at  once, 
and  floundered  through  it  as  I  could. 

'  The  truth  is,  Lawrence,'  said  I,  '  I  have  not  acted  quite 
correctly  towards  you  of  late — especially  on  this  last  occasion  ; 
and  I'm  come  to — in  short,  to  express  my  regret  for  what  has 
been  done,  and  to  beg  your  pardon.  If  you  don't  choose  to 
grant  it,'  I  added  hastily,  not  liking  the  aspect  of  his  face, 
'  it's  no  matter ;  only  I've  done  my  duty — that's  all.' 

'  It's  easily  done,'  replied  he,  with  a  faint  smile  bordering 
on  a  sneer :  '  to  abuse  your  friend  and  knock  him  on  the 
head  without  any  assignable  cause,  and  then  tell  him  the 
deed  was  not  quite  correct,  but  it's  no  matter  whether  he 
pardons  it  or  not.' 

'  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  it  was  in  consequence  of  a 
mistake,'  muttered  I.  '  I  should  have  made  a  very  hand- 
some apology,  but  you  provoked  me  so  confoundedly  with 

your .     Well,   I  suppose  it's  my    fault.     The  fact  is, 

I  didn't  know  that  you  were  Mrs.  Graham's  brother,  and  I 
saw  and  heard  some  things  respecting  your  conduct  towards 
her  which  were  calculated  to  awaken  unpleasant  suspicions, 
that,  allow  me  to  say,  a  little  candour  and  confidence  on 
your  part  might  have  removed ;  and,  at  last,  I  chanced 
to  overhear  a  part  of  a  conversation  between  you  and  her 
that  made  me  think  I  had  a  right  to  hate  you.' 

'  And  how  came  you  to  know  that  I  was  her  brother  ? ' 
asked  he,  in  some  anxiety. 

'  She  told  me  herself.  She  told  me  all.  She  knew  I 
might  be  trusted.  But  you  needn't  disturb  yourself  about 
that,  Mr.  Lawrence,  for  I've  seen  the  last  of  her  ! ' 

'  The  last !     Is  she  gone,  then  ?  ' 

'  No ;  but  she  has  bid  adieu  to  me,  and  I  have  promised 


WILDFELL  HALL  417 

never  to  go  near  that  house  again  while  she  inhabits  it.'  I 
could  have  groaned  aloud  at  the  bitter  thoughts  awakened 
by  this  turn  in  the  discourse.  But  I  only  clenched  my  hands 
and  stamped  my  foot  upon  the  rug.  My  companion,  how- 
ever, was  evidently  relieved. 

'  You  have  done  right,'  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  unqualified 
approbation,  while  his  face  brightened  into  almost  a  sunny 
expression.  '  And  as  for  the  mistake,  I  am  sorry  for  both 
our  sakes  that  it  should  have  occurred.  Perhaps  you  can 
forgive  my  want  of  candour,  and  remember,  as  some  partial 
mitigation  of  the  offence,  how  little  encouragement  to  friendly 
confidence  you  have  given  me  of  late.' 

'  Yes,  yes — I  remember  it  all :  nobody  can  blame  me  more 
than  I  blame  myself  in  my  own  heart ;  at  any  rate,  nobody 
can  regret  more  sincerely  than  I  do  the  result  of  my  brutality, 
as  you  rightly  term  it.' 

'  Never  mind  that,'  said  he,  faintly  smiling  ;  '  let  us  forget 
all  unpleasant  words  on  both  sides,  as  well  as  deeds,  and 
consign  to  oblivion  everything  that  we  have  cause  to  regret. 
Have  you  any  objection  to  take  my  hand,  or  you'd  rather 
not  ? '  It  trembled  through  weakness  as  he  held  it  out,  and 
dropped  before  I  had  time  to  catch  it  and  give  it  a  hearty 
squeeze,  which  he  had  not  the  strength  to  return. 

'  How  dry  and  burning  your  hand  is,  Lawrence,'  said  I. 
'  You  are  really  ill,  and  I  have  made  you  worse  by  all  this 
talk.' 

'  Oh,  it  is  nothing ;  only  a  cold  got  by  the  rain.' 

'  My  doing,  too.' 

'  Never  mind  that.  But  tell  me,  did  you  mention  this 
affair  to  my  sister  ?  ' 

'  To  confess  the  truth,  I  had  not  the  courage  to  do  so  ; 
but  when  you  tell  her,  will  you  just  say  that  I  deeply  regret 
it,  and ? ' 

'  Oh,  never  fear  !  I  shall  say  nothing  against  you,  as 
long  as  you  keep  your  good  resolution  of  remaining  aloof 
from  her.  She  has  not  heard  of  my  illness,  then,  that  you 
are  aware  of  ? ' 


418  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  I  think  not.' 

'  I'm  glad  of  that,  for  I  have  been  all  this  time  tormenting 
myself  with  the  fear  that  somebody  would  tell  her  I  was 
dying,  or  desperately  ill,  and  she  would  be  either  distressing 
herself  on  account  of  her  inability  to  hear  from  me  or  do  me 
any  good,  or  perhaps  committing  the  madness  of  coming  to 
see  me.  I  must  contrive  to  let  her  know  something  about  it, 
if  I  can,'  continued  he,  reflectively,  '  or  she  will  be  hearing 
some  such  story.  Many  would  be  glad  to  tell  her  such  news, 
just  to  see  how  she  would  take  it ;  and  then  she  might  expose 
herself  to  fresh  scandal.' 

1 1  wish  I  had  told  her,'  said  I.  '  If  it  were  not  for  my 
promise,  I  would  tell  her  now.' 

'  By  no  means  !  I  am  not  dreaming  of  that ; — but  if  I 
were  to  write  a  short  note,  now,  not  mentioning  you,  Mark- 
ham,  but  just  giving  a  slight  account  of  my  illness,  by  way 
of  excuse  for  my  not  coming  to  see  her,  and  to  put  her  on 
her  guard  against  any  exaggerated  reports  she  may  hear, — 
and  address  it  in  a  disguised  hand — would  you  do  me  the 
favour  to  slip  it  into  the  post-office  as  you  pass  ?  for  I  dare 
not  trust  any  of  the  servants  in  such  a  case.' 

Most  willingly  I  consented,  and  immediately  brought  him 
his  desk.  There  was  little  need  to  disguise  his  hand,  for 
the  poor  fellow  seemed  to  have  considerable  difficulty  in 
writing  at  all,  so  as  to  be  legible.  When  the  note  was  done, 
I  thought  it  time  to  retire,  and  took  leave,  after  asking  if 
there  was  anything  in  the  world  I  could  do  for  him,  little  or 
great,  in  the  way  of  alleviating  his  sufferings,  and  repairing 
the  injury  I  had  done. 

'  No,'  said  he ;  '  you  have  already  done  much  towards  it ; 
you  have  done  more  for  me  than  the  most  skilful  physician 
could  do  :  for  you  have  relieved  my  mind  of  two  great 
burdens — anxiety  on  my  sister's  account,  and  deep  regret 
upon  your  own :  for  I  do  believe  these  two  sources  of 
torment  have  had  more  effect  in  working  me  up  into  a  fever 
than  anything  else ;  and  I  am  persuaded  I  shall  soon  recover 
now.  There  is  one  more  thing  you  can  do  for  me,  and  that 


WILDFELL  HALL  419 

is,  come  and  see  me  now  and  then — for  you  see  I  am  very 
lonely  here,  and  I  promise  your  entrance  shall  not  be  dis- 
puted again.' 

I  engaged  to  do  so,  and  departed  with  a  cordial  pressure 
of  the  hand.  I  posted  the  letter  on  my  way  home,  most 
manfully  resisting  the  temptation  of  dropping  in  a  word 
from  myself  at  the  same  time. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

I  FELT  strongly  tempted,  at  times,  to  enlighten  my  mother 
and  sister  on  the  real  character  and  circumstances  of  the 
persecuted  tenant  of  Wildfell  Hall,  and  at  first  I  greatly 
regretted  having  omitted  to  ask  that  lady's  permission  to  do 
so  ;  but,  on  due  reflection,  I  considered  that  if  it  were  known 
to  them,  it  could  not  long  remain  a  secret  to  the  Millwards 
and  Wilsons,  and  such  was  my  present  appreciation  of  Eliza 
Millward's  disposition,  that,  if  once  she  got  a  clue  to  the 
story,  I  should  fear  she  would  soon  find  means  to  enlighten 
Mr.  Huntingdon  upon  the  place  of  his  wife's  retreat.  I 
would  therefore  wait  patiently  till  these  weary  six  months 
were  over,  and  then,  when  the  fugitive  had  found  another 
home,  and  I  was  permitted  to  write  to  her,  I  would  beg  to 
be  allowed  to  clear  her  name  from  these  vile  calumnies  :  at 
present  I  must  content  myself  with  simply  asserting  that  I 
knew  them  to  be  false,  and  would  prove  it  some  day,  to  the 
shame  of  those  who  slandered  her.  I  don't  think  anybody 
believed  me,  but  everybody  soon  learned  to  avoid  insinuating 
a  word  against  her,  or  even  mentioning  her  name  in  my 
presence.  They  thought  I  was  so  madly  infatuated  by  the 
seductions  of  that  unhappy  lady  that  I  was  determined  to 
support  her  in  the  very  face  of  reason  ;  and  meantime  I  grew 
insupportably  morose  and  misanthropical  from  the  idea  that 
every  one  I  met  was  harbouring  unworthy  thoughts  of  the 
supposed  Mrs.  Graham,  and  would  express  them  if  he  dared. 
My  poor  mother  was  quite  distressed  about  me  ;  but  I  couldn't 
help  it — at  least  I  thought  I  could  not,  though  sometimes  I 
fe't  a  pang  of  remorse  for  my  undutiful  conduct  to  her,  and 
made  an  effort  to  amend,  attended  with  some  partial  success ; 


WILDFELL  HALL  421 

and  indeed  I  was  generally  more  humanised  in  my  de- 
meanour to  her  than  to  any  one  else,  Mr.  Lawrence  excepted. 
Eose  and  Fergus  usually  shunned  my  presence ;  and  it  was 
well  they  did,  for  I  was  not  fit  company  for  them,  nor  they 
for  me,  under  the  present  circumstances. 

Mrs.  Huntingdon  did  not  leave  Wildfell  Hall  till  above 
two  months  after  our  farewell  interview.  During  that  time 
she  never  appeared  at  church,  and  I  never  went  near  the 
house :  I  only  knew  she  was  still  there  by  her  brother's  brief 
answers  to  my  many  and  varied  inquiries  respecting  her.  I 
was  a  very  constant  and  attentive  visitor  to  him  throughout 
the  whole  period  of  his  illness  and  convalescence ;  not  only 
from  the  interest  I  took  in  his  recovery,  and  my  desire  to 
cheer  him  up  and  make  the  utmost  possible  amends  for  my 
former  '  brutality,'  but  from  my  growing  attachment  to  him- 
self, and  the  increasing  pleasure  I  found  in  his  society — 
partly  from  his  increased  cordiality  to  me,  but  chiefly  on 
account  of  his  close  connection,  both  in  blood  and  in  affection, 
with  my  adored  Helen.  I  loved  him  for  it  better  than  I  liked 
to  express :  and  I  took  a  secret  delight  in  pressing  those 
slender  white  fingers,  so  marvellously  like  her  own,  consider- 
ing he  was  not  a  woman,  and  in  watching  the  passing  changes 
in  his  fair,  pale  features,  and  observing  the  intonations  of  his 
voice,  detecting  resemblances  which  I  wondered  had  never 
struck  me  before.  He  provoked  me  at  times,  indeed,  by  his 
evident  reluctance  to  talk  to  me  about  his  sister,  though  I  did 
not  question  the  friendliness  of  his  motives  in  wishing  to 
discourage  my  remembrance  of  her. 

His  recovery  was  not  quite  so  rapid  as  he  had  expected  it 
to  be ;  he  was  not  able  to  mount  his  pony  till  a  fortnight 
after  the  date  of  our  reconciliation  ;  and  the  first  use  he  made 
of  his  returning  strength  was  to  ride  over  by  night  to  Wild- 
fell  Hall,  to  see  his  sister.  It  was  a  hazardous  enterprise 
both  for  him  and  for  her,  but  he  thought  it  necessary  to 
consult  with  her  on  the  subject  of  her  projected  departure,  if 
not  to  calm  her  apprehensions  respecting  his  health,  and  the 
worst  result  was  a  slight  relapse  of  his  illness,  for  no  one 


422  THE  TENANT  OF 

knew  of  the  visit  but  the  inmates  of  the  old  Hall,  except 
myself  ;  and  I  believe  it  had  not  been  his  intention  to  mention 
it  to  me,  for  when  I  came  to  see  him  the  next  day,  and 
observed  he  was  not  so  well  as  he  ought  to  have  been,  he 
merely  said  he  had  caught  cold  by  being  out  too  late  in  the 
evening. 

'  You'll  never  be  able  to  see  your  sister,  if  you  don't  take 
care  of  yourself,'  said  I,  a  little  provoked  at  the  circumstance 
on  her  account,  instead  of  commiserating  him. 

'  I've  seen  her  already,'  said  he,  quietly. 

'  You've  seen  her ! '  cried  I,  in  astonishment. 

'  Yes.'  And  then  he  told  me  what  considerations  had 
impelled  him  to  make  the  venture,  and  with  what  precautions 
he  had  made  it. 

'  And  how  was  she  ?  '  I  eagerly  asked. 

4  As  usual,'  was  the  brief  though  sad  reply. 

'  As  usual — that  is,  far  from  happy  and  far  from  strong.' 

'  She  is  not  positively  ill,'  returned  he ;  '  and  she  will 
recover  her  spirits  in  a  while,  I  have  no  doubt — but  so  many 
trials  have  been  almost  too  much  for  her.  How  threatening 
those  clouds  look,'  continued  he,  turning  towards  the  window. 
'  We  shall  have  thunder-showers  before  night,  I  imagine,  and 
they  are  just  in  the  midst  of  stacking  my  corn.  Have  you 
got  yours  all  in  yet  ? ' 

'  No.  And,  Lawrence,  did  she — did  your  sister  mention 
me?' 

'  She  asked  if  I  had  seen  you  lately.' 

'  And  what  else  did  she  say  ? ' 

'  I  cannot  tell  you  all  she  said,'  replied  he,  with  a  slight 
smile  ;  '  for  we  talked  a  good  deal,  though  my  stay  was  but 
short ;  but  our  conversation  was  chiefly  on  the  subject  of  her 
intended  departure,  which  I  begged  her  to  delay  till  I  was 
better  able  to  assist  her  in  her  search  after  another  home.' 

'  But  did  she  say  no  more  about  me  ? ' 

1  She  did  not  say  much  about  you,  Markham.  I  should 
not  have  encouraged  her  to  do  so,  had  she  been  inclined  ;  but 
happily  she  was  not :  she  only  asked  a  few  questions  con- 


WILDFELL  HALL  423 

cerning  you,  and  seemed  satisfied  with  my  brief  answers, 
wherein  she  showed  herself  wiser  than  her  friend  ;  and  I  may 
tell  you,  too,  that  she  seemed  to  be  far  more  anxious  lest  you 
should  think  too  much  of  her,  than  lest  you  should  forget 
her.' 

'  She  was  right.' 

'  But  I  fear  your  anxiety  is  quite  the  other  way  respecting 
her.' 

'  No,  it  is  not :  I  wish  her  to  be  happy ;  but  I  don't  wish 
her  to  forget  me  altogether.  She  knows  it  is  impossible  that 
I  should  forget  her ;  and  she  is  right  to  wish  me  not  to 
remember  her  too  well.  I  should  not  desire  her  to  regret  me 
too  deeply  ;  but  I  can  scarcely  imagine  she  will  make  herself 
very  unhappy  about  me,  because  I  know  I  am  not  worthy  of 
it,  except  in  my  appreciation  of  her.' 

'  You  are  neither  of  you  worthy  of  a  broken  heart, — nor 
of  all  the  sighs,  and  tears,  and  sorrowful  thoughts  that  have 
been,  and  I  fear  will  be,  wasted  upon  you  both  ;  but,  at 
present,  each  has  a  more  exalted  opinion  of  the  other  than, 
I  fear,  he  or  she  deserves;  and  my  sister's  feelings  are 
naturally  full  as  keen  as  yours,  and  I  believe  more  constant ; 
but  she  has  the  good  sense  and  fortitude  to  strive  against 
them  in  this  particular ;  and  I  trust  she  will  not  rest  till 
she  has  entirely  weaned  her  thoughts '  he  hesitated. 

'  From  me,'  said  I. 

'  And  I  wish  you  would  make  the  like  exertions,'  con- 
tinued he. 

'  Did  she  tell  you  that  that  was  her  intention  ?  ' 

'  No  ;  the  question  was  not  broached  between  us  :  there 
was  no  necessity  for  it,  for  I  had  no  doubt  that  such  was 
her  determination.' 

'  To  forget  me  ? ' 

'  Yes,  Markham  !     Why  not  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  well ! '  was  my  only  audible  reply  ;  but  I  internally 

answered, — '  No,  Lawrence,  you're  wrong  there  :  she  is  not 

determined  to  forget  me.     It  would  be  wrong  to  forget  one 

so  deeply  and  fondly  devoted  to  her,  who  can  so  thoroughly 

15 


424  THE  TENANT  OF 

appreciate  her  excellencies,  and  sympathise  with  all  her 
thoughts,  as  I  can  do,  and  it  would  be  wrong  in  me  to  forget 
so  excellent  and  divine  a  piece  of  God's  creation  as  she, 
when  I  have  once  so  truly  loved  and  known  her.'  But  I 
said  no  more  to  him  on  that  subject.  I  instantly  started  a 
new  topic  of  conversation,  and  soon  took  leave  of  my  com- 
panion, with  a  feeling  of  less  cordiality  towards  him  than 
usual.  Perhaps  I  had  no  right  to  be  annoyed  at  him,  but  I 
was  so  nevertheless. 

In  little  more  than  a  week  after  this  I  met  him  returning 
from  a  visit  to  the  Wilsons' ;  and  I  now  resolved  to  do  him 
a  good  turn,  though  at  the  expense  of  his  feelings,  and 
perhaps  at  the  risk  of  incurring  that  displeasure  which  is  so 
commonly  the  reward  of  those  who  give  disagreeable  infor- 
mation, or  tender  their  advice  unasked.  In  this,  believe  me, 
I  was  actuated  by  no  motives  of  revenge  for  the  occasional 
annoyances  I  had  lately  sustained  from  him, — nor  yet  by 
any  feeling  of  malevolent  enmity  towards  Miss  Wilson,  but 
purely  by  the  fact  that  I  could  not  endure  that  such  a 
woman  should  be  Mrs.  Huntingdon's  sister,  and  that,  as 
well  for  his  own  sake  as  for  hers,  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of 
his  being  deceived  into  a  union  with  one  so  unworthy  of 
him,  and  so  utterly  unfitted  to  be  the  partner  of  his  quiet 
home,  and  the  companion  of  his  life.  He  had  had  uncom- 
fortable suspicions  on  that  head  himself,  I  imagined  ;  but 
such  was  his  inexperience,  and  such  were  the  lady's  powers 
of  attraction,  and  her  skill  in  bringing  them  to  bear  upon 
his  young  imagination,  that  they  had  not  disturbed  him 
long ;  and  I  believe  the  only  effectual  causes  of  the  vacil- 
lating indecision  that  had  preserved  him  hitherto  from 
making  an  actual  declaration  of  love,  was  the  consideration 
of  her  connections,  and  especially  of  her  mother,  whom  he 
could  not  abide.  Had  they  lived  at  a  distance,  he  might 
have  surmounted  the  objection,  but  within  two  or  three 
miles  of  Woodford  it  was  really  no  light  matter. 

'  You've  been  to  call  on  the  Wilsons,  Lawrence,'  said  I, 
as  I  walked  beside  his  pony. 


WILDFELL  HALL  425 

'  Yes/  replied  he,  slightly  averting  his  face :  '  I  thought 
it  but  civil  to  take  the  first  opportunity  of  returning  their 
kind  attentions,  since  they  have  been  so  very  particular  and 
constant  in  their  inquiries  throughout  the  whole  course  of 
my  illness.' 

'  It's  all  Miss  Wilson's  doing.' 

'  And  if  it  is,'  returned  he,  with  a  very  perceptible  blush, 
1  is  that  any  reason  why  I  should  not  make  a  suitable 
acknowledgment  ? ' 

'  It  is  a  reason  why  you  should  not  make  the  acknow- 
ledgment she  looks  for.' 

'  Let  us  drop  that  subject  if  you  please,'  said  he,  in 
evident  displeasure. 

'  No,  Lawrence,  with  your  leave  we'll  continue  it  a  while 
longer;  and  I'll  tell  you  something,  now  we're  about  it, 
which  you  may  believe  or  not  as  you  choose — only  please  to 
remember  that  it  is  not  my  custom  to  speak  falsely,  and 
that  in  this  case  I  can  have  no  motive  for  misrepresenting 
the  truth ' 

'  Well,  Markham,  what  now  ? ' 

'  Miss  Wilson  hates  your  sister.  It  may  be  natural 
enough  that,  in  her  ignorance  of  the  relationship,  she  should 
feel  some  degree  of  enmity  against  her,  but  no  good  or 
amiable  woman  would  be  capable  of  evincing  that  bitter, 
cold-blooded,  designing  malice  towards  a  fancied  rival  that  I 
have  observed  in  her.' 

'  Markham ! ' 

'  Yes — and  it  is  my  belief  that  Eliza  Millward  and  she,  if 
not  the  very  originators  of  the  slanderous  reports  that  have 
been  propagated,  were  designedly  the  encouragers  and  chief 
disseminators  of  them.  She  was  not  desirous  to  mix  up 
your  name  in  the  matter,  of  course,  but  her  delight  was,  and 
still  is,  to  blacken  your  sister's  character  to  the  utmost  of  her 
power,  without  risking  too  greatly  the  exposure  of  her  own 
malevolence ! ' 

'  I  cannot  believe  it,'  interrupted  my  companion,  his  face 
burning  with  indignation. 


426  THE  TENANT  OP 

'  Well,  as  I  cannot  prove  it,  I  must  content  myself  with 
asserting  that  it  is  so  to  the  best  of  my  belief ;  but  as  you 
would  not  willingly  marry  Miss  Wilson  if  it  were  so,  you 
will  do  well  to  be  cautious,  till  you  have  proved  it  to  be 
otherwise.' 

'  I  never  told  you,  Markham,  that  I  intended  to  marry 
Miss  Wilson,'  said  he,  proudly. 

'  No,  but  whether  you  do  or  not,  she  intends  to  marry  you.' 

'  Did  she  tell  you  so  ?  ' 

'  No,  but ' 

'Then  you  have  no  right  to  make  such  an  assertion 
respecting  her.'  He  slightly  quickened  his  pony's  pace,  but 
I  laid  my  hand  on  its  mane,  determined  he  should  not  leave 
me  yet. 

'  Wait  a  moment,  Lawrence,  and  let  me  explain  myself ; 
and  don't  be  so  very — I  dcn't  know  what  to  call  it — inacces- 
sible as  you  are. — I  know  what  you  think  of  Jane  Wilson  ; 
and  I  believe  I  know  how  far  you  are  mistaken  in  your 
opinion :  you  think  she  is  singularly  charming,  elegant, 
sensible,  and  refined :  you  are  not  aware  that  she  is  selfish 
cold-hearted,  ambitious,  artful,  shallow-minded ' 

'  Enough,  Markham — enough ! ' 

'  No  ;  let  me  finish  : — you  don't  know  that,  if  you  married 
her,  your  home  would  be  rayless  and  comfortless ;  and  it 
would  break  your  heart  at  last  to  find  yourself  united  to  one 
so  wholly  incapable  of  sharing  your  tastes,  feelings,  and 
ideas — so  utterly  destitute  of  sensibility,  good  feeling,  and 
true  nobility  of  soul.' 

1  Have  you  done  ? '  asked  my  companion  quietly. 

'  Yes ; — I  know  you  hate  me  for  my  impertinence,  but  I 
don't  care  if  it  only  conduces  to  preserve  you  from  that  fatal 
mistake.' 

'  Well ! '  returned  he,  with  a  rather  wintry  smile— '  I'm 
glad  you  have  overcome  or  forgotten  your  own  afflictions  so 
far  as  to  be  able  to  study  so  deeply  the  affairs  of  others,  and 
trouble  your  head  so  unnecessarily  about  the  fancied  or 
possible  calamities  of  their  future  life,' 


WILDFELL  HALL  427 

We  parted — somewhat  coldly  again  :  but  still  we  did  not 
cease  to  be  friends ;  and  my  well-meant  warning,  though  it 
might  have  been  more  judiciously  delivered,  as  well  as  more 
thankfully  received,  was  not  wholly  unproductive  of  the 
desired  effect :  his  visit  to  the  Wilsons  was  not  repeated, 
and  though,  in  our  subsequent  interviews,  he  never  mentioned 
her  name  to  me,  nor  I  to  him, — I  have  reason  to  believe  he 
pondered  my  words  in  his  mind,  eagerly  though  covertly 
sought  information  respecting  the  fair  lady  from  other 
quarters,  secretly  compared  my  character  of  her  with  what 
he  had  himself  observed  and  what  he  heard  from  others,  and 
finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that,  all  things  considered, 
she  had  much  better  remain  Miss  Wilson  of  Eyecote  Farm 
than  be  transmuted  into  Mrs.  Lawrence  of  Woodford  Hall. 
I  believe,  too,  that  he  soon  learned  to  contemplate  with 
secret  amazement  his  former  predilection,  and  to  congratulate 
himself  on  the  lucky  escape  he  had  made ;  but  he  never 
confessed  it  to  me,  or  hinted  one  word  of  acknowledgment 
for  the  part  I  had  had  in  his  deliverance,  but  this  was  not 
surprising  to  any  one  that  knew  him  as  I  did. 

As  for  Jane  Wilson,  she,  of  course,  was  disappointed  and 
embittered  by  the  sudden  cold  neglect  and  ultimate  desertion 
of  her  former  admirer.  Had  I  done  wrong  to  blight  her 
cherished  hopes  ?  I  think  not ;  and  certainly  my  conscience 
has  never  accused  me,  from  that  day  to  this,  of  any  evil  design 
in  the  matter. 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

ONE  morning,  about  the  beginning  of  November,  while  I 
was  inditing  some  business  letters,  shortly  after  breakfast, 
Eliza  Mill  ward  came  to  call  upon  my  sister.  Rose  had 
neither  the  discrimination  nor  the  virulence  to  regard  the 
little  demon  as  I  did,  and  they  still  preserved  their  former 
intimacy.  At  the  moment  of  her  arrival,  however,  there  was 
no  one  in  the  room  but  Fergus  and  myself,  my  mother  and 
sister  being  both  of  them  absent,  'on  household  cares 
intent ' ;  but  I  was  not  going  to  lay  myself  out  for  her 
amusement,  whoever  else  might  so  incline :  I  merely 
honoured  her  with  a  careless  salutation  and  a  few  words  of 
course,  and  then  went  on  with  my  writing,  leaving  my 
brother  to  be  more  polite  if  he  chose.  But  she  wanted  to 
tease  me. 

1  What  a  pleasure  it  is  to  find  you  at  home,  Mr.  Mark- 
ham  !  '  said  she,  with  a  disingenuously  malicious  smile.  '  I 
so  seldom  see  you  now,  for  you  never  come  to  the  vicarage. 
Papa  is  quite  offended,  I  can  tell  you,'  she  added  playfully, 
looking  into  my  face  with  an  impertinent  laugh,  as  she 
seated  herself,  half  beside  and  half  before  my  desk,  off  the 
corner  of  the  table. 

'  I  have  had  a  good  deal  to  do  of  late,'  said  I,  without 
looking  up  from  my  letter. 

1  Have  you,  indeed !  Somebody  said  you  had  been 
strangely  neglecting  your  business  these  last  few  months.' 

'  Somebody  said  wrong,  for,  these  last  two  months 
especially,  I  have  been  particularly  plodding  and  diligent.' 

'  Ah !  well,  there's  nothing  like  active  employment,  I 
suppose,  to  console  the  afflicted ; — and,  excuse  me,  Mr. 


WILDFELL  HALL  429 

Markbam,  but  you  look  so  very  far  from  well,  and  have  been, 
by  all  accounts,  so  moody  and  thoughtful  of  late, — I  could 
almost  think  you  have  some  secret  care  preying  on  your 
spirits.  Formerly,'  said  she  timidly,  '  I  could  have  ventured 
to  ask  you  what  it  was,  and  what  I  could  do  to  comfort  you  : 
I  dare  not  do  it  now.' 

'  You're  very  kind,  Miss  Eliza.  When  I  think  you  can 
do  anything  to  comfort  me,  I'll  make  bold  to  tell  you.' 

'  Pray  do  ! — I  suppose  I  mayn't  guess  what  it  is  that 
troubles  you  ? ' 

'  There's  no  necessity,  for  I'll  tell  you  plainly.  The 
thing  that  troubles  me  the  most  at  present  is  a  young  lady 
sitting  at  my  elbow,  and  preventing  me  from  finishing  my 
letter,  and,  thereafter,  repairing  to  my  daily  business.' 

Before  she  could  reply  to  this  ungallant  speech,  Eose 
entered  the  room  ;  and  Miss  Eliza  rising  to  greet  her,  they 
both  seated  themselves  near  the  fire,  where  that  idle  lad 
Fergus  was  standing,  leaning  his  shoulder  against  the 
corner  of  the  chimney-piece,  with  his  legs  crossed  and  his 
hands  in  his  breeches-pockets. 

'  Now,  Eose,  I'll  tell  you  a  piece  of  news — I  hope  you 
have  not  heard  it  before  :  for  good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  one 
always  likes  to  be  the  first  to  tell.  It's  about  that  sad  Mrs. 
Graham ' 

'  Hush — sh — sh !  '  whispered  Fergus,  in  a  tone  of 
solemn  import.  '  "  We  never  mention  her ;  her  name  is 
never  heard."  '  And  glancing  up,  I  caught  him  with  his  eye 
askance  on  me,  and  his  finger  pointed  to  his  forehead ;  then, 
winking  at  the  young  lady  with  a  doleful  shake  of  the  head, 
be  whispered—'  A  monomania — but  don't  mention  it — all 
right  but  that.' 

'  I  should  be  sorry  to  injure  any  one's  feelings,'  returned 
she,  speaking  below  her  breath.  '  Another  time, 
perhaps.' 

'  Speak  out,  Miss  Eliza  ! '  said  I,  not  deigning  to  notice 
the  other's  buffooneries  :  '  you  needn't  fear  to  say  anything 
in  my  presence.' 


430  THE  TENANT   OF 

'  Well,'  answered  she,  '  perhaps  you  know  already  that 
Mrs.  Graham's  husband  is  not  really  dead,  and  that  she  had 
run  away  from  him  ? '  I  started,  and  felt  my  face  glow ; 
but  I  bent  it  over  my  letter,  and  went  on  folding  it  up  as 
she  proceeded.  '  But  perhaps  you  did  not  know  that  she 
is  now  gone  back  to  him  again,  and  that  a  perfect  reconcilia- 
tion has  taken  place  between  them  ?  Only  think,'  she 
continued,  turning  to  the  confounded  Eose,  '  what  a  fool 
the  man  must  be  ! ' 

1  And  who  gave  you  this  piece  of  intelligence,  Miss  Eliza  ? 
said  I,  interrupting  my  sister's  exclamations. 

'  I  had  it  from  a  very  authentic  source,  sir.' 

'  From  whom,  may  I  ask  ?  ' 

'  From  one  of  the  servants  at  Woodford.' 

'  Oh  !  I  was  not  aware  that  you  were  on  such  intimate 
terms  with  Mr.  Lawrence's  household.' 

'  It  was  not  from  the  man  himself  that  I  heard  it,  but  he 
told  it  in  confidence  to  our  maid  Sarah,  and  Sarah  told  it 
to  me.' 

'  In  confidence,  I  suppose  ?  And  you  tell  it  in  confidence 
to  us  ?  But  I  can  tell  you  that  it  is  but  a  lame  story  after 
all,  and  scarcely  one-half  of  it  true.' 

While  I  spoke  I  completed  the  sealing  and  direction  of 
my  letters,  with  a  somewhat  unsteady  hand,  in  spite  of  all 
my  efforts  to  retain  composure,  and  in  spite  of  my  firm 
conviction  that  the  story  was  a  lame  one — that  the  supposed 
Mrs.  Graham,  most  certainly,  had  not  voluntarily  gone  back 
to  her  husband,  or  dreamt  of  a  reconciliation.  Most  likely 
she  was  gone  away,  and  the  tale-bearing  servant,  not  knowing 
what  was  become  of  her,  had  conjectured  that  such  was  the 
case,  and  our  fair  visitor  had  detailed  it  as  a  certainty, 
delighted  with  such  an  opportunity  of  tormenting  me.  But 
it  was  possible — barely  possible — that  some  one  might  have 
betrayed  her,  and  she  had  been  taken  away  by  force. 
Determined  to  know  the  worst,  I  hastily  pocketed  my  two 
letters,  and  muttered  something  about  being  too  late  for  the 
post,  left  the  room,  rushed  into  the  yard,  and  vociferously 


WILDFELL  HALL  431 

called  for  my  horse.  No  one  being  there,  I  dragged  him 
out  of  the  stable  myself,  strapped  the  saddle  on  to  his  back 
and  the  bridle  on  to  his  head,  mounted,  and  speedily  galloped 
away  to  Woodford.  I  found  its  owner  pensively  strolling  in 
the  grounds. 

1  Is  your  sister  gone  ?  '  were  my  first  words  as  I  grasped 
his  hand,  instead  of  the  usual  inquiry  after  his  health. 

'  Yes,  she's  gone,'  was  his  answer,  so  calmly  spoken  that 
my  terror  was  at  once  removed. 

'  I  suppose  I  mayn't  know  where  she  is  ?  '  said  I,  as  I 
dismounted,  and  relinquished  my  horse  to  the  gardener,  who, 
being  the  only  servant  within  call,  had  been  summoned  by 
his  master,  from  his  employment  of  raking  up  the  dead 
leaves  on  the  lawn,  to  take  him  to  the  stables. 

My  companion  gravely  took  my  arm,  and  leading  me 
away  to  the  garden,  thus  answered  my  question, — '  She  is  at 
Grassdale  Manor,  in shire.' 

'  Where  ? '  cried  I,  with  a  convulsive  start. 

1  At  Grassdale  Manor.' 

'  How  was  it  ?  '  I  gasped.     '  Who  betrayed  her  ? ' 

'  She  went  of  her  own  accord.' 

'  Impossible,  Lawrence  !  She  could  not  be  so  frantic ! ' 
exclaimed  I,  vehemently  grasping  his  arm,  as  if  to  force  him 
to  unsay  those  hateful  words. 

'  She  did,'  persisted  he  in  the  same  grave,  collected 
manner  as  before ;  '  and  not  without  reason,'  he  continued, 
gently  disengaging  himself  from  my  grasp.  '  Mr.  Hunting- 
don is  ill.' 

'  And  so  she  went  to  nurse  him  ?  ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  Fool ! '  I  could  not  help  exclaiming,  and  Lawrence 
looked  up  with  a  rather  reproachful  glance.  '  Is  he  dying, 
then?' 

'  I  think  not,  Markham.' 

'  And  how  many  more  nurses  has  he  ?  How  many  ladies 
are  there  besides  to  take  care  of  him  ?  ' 

'  None ;  he  was  alone,  or  she  would  not  have  gone.' 


432  THE  TENANT  OP 

'  Oh,  confound  it !     This  is  intolerable  ! ' 

1  What  is  ?    That  he  should  be  alone  ? ' 

I  attempted  no  reply,  for  I  was  not  sure  that  this  circum- 
stance did  not  partly  conduce  to  my  distraction.  I  therefore 
continued  to  pace  the  walk  in  silent  anguish,  with  my  hand 
pressed  to  my  forehead  ;  then  suddenly  pausing  and  turn- 
ing to  my  companion,  I  impatiently  exclaimed,  '  Why  did 
she  take  this  infatuated  step?  What  fiend  persuaded  her 
to  it?' 

'  Nothing  persuaded  her  but  her  own  sense  of  duty.' 

'  Humbug ! ' 

'  I  was  half  inclined  to  say  so  myself,  Markham,  at  first. 
I  assure  you  it  was  not  by  my  advice  that  she  went,  for  I 
detest  that  man  as  fervently  as  you  can  do, — except,  indeed, 
that  his  reformation  would  give  me  much  greater  pleasure 
than  his  death  ;  but  all  I  did  was  to  inform  her  of  the 
circumstance  of  his  illness  (the  consequence  of  a  fall  from  his 
horse  in  hunting),  and  to  tell  her  that  that  unhappy  person, 
Miss  Myers,  had  left  him  some  time  ago.' 

'  It  was  ill  done  !  Now,  when  he  finds  the  convenience 
of  her  presence,  he  will  make  all  manner  of  lying  speeches 
and  false,  fair  promises  for  the  future,  and  she  will  believe 
him,  and  then  her  condition  will  be  ten  times  worse  and  ten 
times  more  irremediable  than  before.' 

'  There  does  not  appear  to  be  much  ground  for  such 
apprehensions  at  present,'  said  he,  producing  a  letter  from 
his  pocket.  '  From  the  account  I  received  this  morning,  I 
should  say  — 

It  was  her  writing!  By  an  irresistible  impulse  I  held 
out  my  hand,  and  the  words,  '  Let  me  see  it,'  involuntarily 
passed  my  lips.  He  was  evidently  reluctant  to  grant  the 
request,  but  while  he  hesitated  I  snatched  it  from  his  hand. 
Eecollecting  myself,  however,  the  minute  after,  I  offered  to 
restore  it. 

'  Here,  take  it,'  said  I,  '  if  you  don't  want  me  to  read  it.' 

'  No,'  replied  he,  '  you  may  read  it  if  you  like.' 

I  read  it,  and  so  may  you. 


WILDFELL   HALL  488 

Grassdale,  Nov.  4th. 

DEAR  FKEDEKICK, — I  know  you  will  be  anxious  to  hear 
from  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  all  I  can.  Mr.  Huntingdon  is 
very  ill,  but  not  dying,  or  in  any  immediate  danger  ;  and  he 
is  rather  better  at  present  than  he  was  when  I  came.  I  found 
the  house  in  sad  confusion :  Mrs.  Greaves,  Benson,  every 
decent  servant  had  left,  and  those  that  were  come  to  supply 
their  places  were  a  negligent,  disorderly  set,  to  say  no  worse 
— I  must  change  them  again,  if  I  stay.  A  professional  nurse, 
a  grim,  hard  old  woman,  had  been  hired  to  attend  the  wretched 
invalid.  He  suffers  much,  and  has  no  fortitude  to  bear  him 
through.  The  immediate  injuries  he  sustained  from  the 
accident,  however,  were  not  very  severe,  and  would,  as  the 
doctor  says,  have  been  but  trifling  to  a  man  of  temperate 
habits,  but  with  him  it  is  very  different.  On  the  night  of  my 
arrival,  when  I  first  entered  his  room,  he  was  lying  in  a  kind 
of  half  delirium.  He  did  not  notice  me  till  I  spoke,  and  then 
he  mistook  me  for  another. 

'  Is  it  you,  Alice,  come  again  ?  '  he  murmured.  '  What 
did  you  leave  me  for  ? ' 

'  It  is  I,  Arthur — it  is  Helen,  your  wife,'  I  replied. 

'  My  wife  ! '  said  he,  with  a  start.  '  For  heaven's  sake, 
don't  mention  her — I  have  none.  Devil  take  her,'  he  cried, 
a  moment  after,  '  and  you,  too  !  What  did  you  do  it  for  ? ' 

I  said  no  more ;  but  observing  that  he  kept  gazing  towards 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  I  went  and  sat  there,  placing  the  light  so 
as  to  shine  full  upon  me,  for  I  thought  he  might  be  dying, 
and  I  wanted  him  to  know  me.  For  a  long  time  he  lay 
silently  looking  upon  me,  first  with  a  vacant  stare,  then  with 
a  fixed  gaze  of  strange  growing  intensity.  At  last  he  startled 
me  by  suddenly  raising  himself  on  his  elbow  and  demanding 
in  a  horrified  whisper,  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  me, '  Who 
is  it  ?  ' 

'  It  is  Helen  Huntingdon,'  said  I,  quietly  rising  at  the 
same  time,  and  removing  to  a  less  conspicuous  position. 

'  I  must  be  going  mad,'  cried  he, '  or  something — delirious, 
perhaps  ;  but  leave  me,  whoever  you  are.  I  can't  bear  that 


434  THE  TENANT  OP 

white  face,  and  those  eyes.  For  God's  sake  go,  and  send  me 
somebody  else  that  doesn't  look  like  that ! ' 

I  went  at  once,  and  sent  the  hired  nurse ;  but  next  morn- 
ing I  ventured  to  enter  his  chamber  again,  and,  taking  the 
nurse's  place  by  his  bedside,  I  watched  him  and  waited  on 
him  for  several  hours,  showing  myself  as  little  as  possible, 
and  only  speaking  when  necessary,  and  then  not  above  my 
breath.  At  first  he  addressed  me  as-  the  nurse,  but,  on  my 
crossing  the  room  to  draw  up  the  window-blinds,  in  obedience 
to  his  directions,  he  said, '  No,  it  isn't  nurse  ;  it's  Alice.  Stay 
with  me,  do  !  That  old  hag  will  be  the  death  of  me.' 

'  I  mean  to  stay  with  you,'  said  I.  And  after  that  he 
would  call  me  Alice,  or  some  other  name  almost  equally 
repugnant  to  my  feelings.  I  forced  myself  to  endure  it  for  a 
while,  fearing  a  contradiction  might  disturb  him  too  much  ; 
but  when,  having  asked  for  a  glass  of  water,  while  I  held  it 
to  his  lips,  he  murmured,  '  Thanks,  dearest ! '  I  could  not 
help  distinctly  observing,  '  You  would  not  say  so  if  you  knew 
me,'  intending  to  follow  that  up  with  another  declaration  of 
my  identity ;  but  he  merely  muttered  an  incoherent  reply,  so 
I  dropped  it  again,  till  some  time  after,  when,  as  I  was  bath- 
ing his  forehead  and  temples  with  vinegar  and  water  to  relieve 
the  heat  and  pain  in  his  head,  he  observed,  after  looking 
earnestly  upon  me  for  some  minutes,  '  I  have  such  strange 
fancies — I  can't  get  rid  of  them,  and  they  won't  let  me  rest ; 
and  the  most  singular  and  pertinacious  of  them  all  is  your 
face  and  voice — they  seem  just  like  hers.  I  could  swear  at 
this  moment  that  she  was  by  my  side.' 

'  She  is,'  said  I. 

'  That  seems  comfortable,'  continued  he,  without  noticing 
my  words ;  '  and  while  you  do  it,  the  other  fancies  fade  away 
— but  this  only  strengthens.  Go  on — go  on,  till  it  vanishes, 
too.  I  can't  stand  such  a  mania  as  this ;  it  would  kill 
me ! ' 

'  It  never  will  vanish,'  said  I,  distinctly,  '  for  it  is  the 
truth ! ' 

'  The  truth ! '    he  cried,    starting,   as    if  an    asp    had 


WILDFELL  HALL  435 

stung  him.  'You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  really 
she?' 

'  I  do ;  but  you  needn't  shrink  away  from  me,  as  if  I  were 
your  greatest  enemy  :  I  am  come  to  take  care  of  you,  and  do 
what  none  of  them  would  do.' 

'  For  God's  sake,  don't  torment  me  now ! '  cried  he  in 
pitiable  agitation  ;  and  then  he  began  to  mutter  bitter  curses 
against  me,  or  the  evil  fortune  that  had  brought  me  there ; 
while  I  put  down  the  sponge  and  basin,  and  resumed  my  seat 
at  the  bed-side. 

'  Where  are  they  ? '  said  he :  '  have  they  all  left  me — 
servants  and  all  ?  ' 

'  There  are  servants  within  call  if  you  want  them ;  but 
you  had  better  lie  down  now  and  be  quiet :  none  of  them 
could  or  would  attend  you  as  carefully  as  I  shall  do.' 

'I  can't  understand  it  at  all,'  said  he,  in  bewildered 

perplexity.  '  Was  it  a  dream  that '  and  he  covered 

his  eyes  with  his  hands,  as  if  trying  to  unravel  the 
mystery. 

*  No,  Arthur,  it  was  not  a  dream,  that  your  conduct  was 
such  as  to  oblige  me  to  leave  you ;  but  I  heard  that  you 
were  ill  and  alone,  and  I  am  come  back  to  nurse  you.  You 
need  not  fear  to  trust  me  :  tell  me  all  your  wants,  and  I  will 
try  to  satisfy  them.  There  is  no  one  else  to  care  for  you ; 
and  I  shall  not  upbraid  you  now.' 

'  Oh  !  I  see,'  said  he,  with  a  bitter  smile  ;  '  it's  an  act  of 
Christian  charity,  whereby  you  hope  to  gain  a  higher  seat  in 
heaven  for  yourself,  and  scoop  a  deeper  pit  in  hell  for  me." 

'  No ;  I  came  to  offer  you  that  comfort  and  assistance 
your  situation  required ;  and  if  I  could  benefit  your  soul  as 
well  as  your  body,  and  awaken  some  sense  of  contrition 
and ' 

'  Oh,  yes  ;  if  you  could  overwhelm  me  with  remorse  and 
confusion  of  face,  now's  the  time.  What  have  you  done  with 
my  son  ? ' 

'  He  is  well,  and  you  may  see  him  some  time,  if  you  will 
compose  yourself,  but  not  now.' 


THE   TENANT  OP 

'  Where  is  he  ?  ' 

'  He  is  safe.' 

'  Is  he  here  ? ' 

'  Wherever  he  is,  you  will  not  see  him  till  you  have 
promised  to  leave  him  entirely  under  my  care  and  protection, 
and  to  let  me  take  him  away  whenever  and  wherever  I  please, 
if  I  should  hereafter  judge  it  necessary  to  remove  him 
again.  But  we  will  talk  of  that  to-morrow :  you  must  be 
quiet  now.' 

'  No,  let  me  see  him  now.     I  promise,  if  it  must  be  so.' 

'No ' 

'  I  swear  it,  as  God  is  in  heaven  !  Now,  then,  let  me  see 
him.' 

1  But  I  cannot  trust  your  oaths  and  promises  :  I  must 
have  a  written  agreement,  and  you  must  sign  it  in  presence 
of  a  witness  :  but  not  to-day — to-morrow.' 

'  No,  to-day ;  now,'  persisted  he  :  and  he  was  in  such  a 
state  of  feverish  excitement,  and  so  bent  upon  the  immediate 
gratification  of  his  wish,  that  I  thought  it  better  to  grant  it 
at  once,  as  I  saw  he  would  not  rest  till  I  did.  But  I  was 
determined  my  son's  interest  should  not  be  forgotten ;  and 
having  clearly  written  out  the  promise  I  wished  Mr. 
Huntingdon  to  give  upon  a  slip  ot  paper,  I  deliberately  read 
it  over  to  him,  and  made  him  sign  it  in  the  presence  of 
Kachel.  He  begged  I  would  not  insist  upon  this  :  it  was  a 
useless  exposure  of  my  want  of  faith  in  his  word  to  the 
servant.  I  told  him  I  was  sorry,  but  since  he  had  forfeited 
my  confidence,  he  must  take  the  consequence.  He  next 
pleaded  inability  to  hold  the  pen.  '  Then  we  must  wait  until 
you  can  hold  it,'  said  I.  Upon  which  he  said  he  would  try ; 
but  then  he  could  not  see  to  write.  I  placed  my  finger 
where  the  signature  was  to  be,  and  told  him  he  might  write 
his  name  in  the  dark,  if  he  only  knew  where  to  put  it.  But 
he  had  not  power  to  form  the  letters.  '  In  that  case,  you  must 
be  too  ill  to  see  the  child,'  said  I  ;  and  finding  me  inexorable, 
he  at  length  managed  to  ratify  the  agreement ;  and  I  bade 
Rachel  send  the  boy. 


WILDFELL  HALL    .  437 

All  this  may  strike  you  as  harsh,  but  I  felt  I  must  not 
lose  my  present  advantage,  and  my  son's  future  welfare 
should  not  be  sacrificed  to  any  mistaken  tenderness  for  this 
man's  feelings.  Little  Arthur  had  not  forgotten  his  father,  but 
thirteen  months  of  absence,  during  which  he  had  seldom 
been  permitted  to  hear  a  word  about  him,  or  hardly  to 
whisper  his  name,  had  rendered  him  somewhat  shy;  and 
when  he  was  ushered  into  the  darkened  room  where  the  sick 
man  lay,  so  altered  from  his  former  self,  with  fiercely  flushed 
face  and  wildly-gleaming  eyes — he  instinctively  clung  to  me, 
and  stood  looking  on  his  father  with  a  countenance  expres- 
sive of  far  more  awe  than  pleasure. 

'  Come  here,  Arthur,'  said  the  latter,  extending  his 
hand  towards  him.  The  child  went,  and  timidly  touched 
that  burning  hand,  but  almost  started  in  alarm,  when  his 
father  suddenly  clutched  his  arm  and  drew  him  nearer  to 
his  side. 

'  Do  you  know  me  ? '  asked  Mr.  Huntingdon,  intently 
perusing  his  features. 

'  Yes.' 

'  Who  am  I  ?  ' 

'  Papa.' 

'  Are  you  glad  to  see  me  ? ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  You're  not ! '  replied  the  disappointed  parent,  relaxing 
his  hold,  and  darting  a  vindictive  glance  at  me. 

Arthur,  thus  released,  crept  back  to  me  and  put  his  hand 
in  mine.  His  father  swore  I  had  made  the  child  hate  him, 
and  abused  and  cursed  me  bitterly.  The  instant  he  began  I 
sent  our  son  out  of  the  room ;  and  when  he  paused  to 
breathe,  I  calmly  assured  him  that  he  was  entirely  mistaken  ; 
I  had  never  once  attempted  to  prejudice  his  child  against  him. 

'  I  did  indeed  desire  him  to  forget  you,'  I  said,  '  and 
especially  to  forget  the  lessons  you  taught  him  ;  and  for  that 
cause,  and  to  lessen  the  danger  of  discovery,  I  own  I  have 
generally  discouraged  his  inclination  to  talk  about  you ;  but 
no  one  can  blame  me  for  that,  I  think.' 


438  THE   TENANT  OF 

The  invalid  only  replied  by  groaning  aloud,  and  rolling 
his  head  on  a  pillow  in  a  paroxysm  of  impatience. 

'  I  am  in  hell,  already ! '  cried  he.  '  This  cursed  thirst  is 
burning  my  heart  to  ashes !  Will  nobody ?  ' 

Before  he  could  finish  the  sentence  I  had  poured  out  a 
glass  of  some  acidulated,  cooling  drink  that  was  on  the  table, 
and  brought  it  to  him.     He  drank  it  greedily,  but  muttered 
as  I  took  away  the  glass, — '  I  suppose  you're  heaping  coal 
of  fire  on  my  head,  you  think  ? ' 

Not  noticing  this  speech,  I  asked  if  there  was  anything 
else  I  could  do  for  him. 

'  Yes ;  I'll  give  you  another  opportunity  of  showing  your 
Christian  magnanimity,'  sneered  he  :  '  set  my  pillow 
straight,  and  these  confounded  bed-clothes.'  I  did  so. 
'  There  :  now  get  me  another  glass  of  that  slop.'  I  complied. 
'  This  is  delightful,  isn't  it  ? '  said  he  with  a  malicious 
grin,  as  I  held  it  to  his  lips ;  '  you  never  hoped  for  such 
a  glorious  opportunity  ?  ' 

'  Now,  shall  I  stay  with  you  ? '  said  I,  as  I  replaced  the 
glass  on  the  table :  '  or  will  you  be  more  quiet  if  I  go  and 
send  the  nurse  ? ' 

'  Oh,  yes,  you're  wondrous  gentle  and  obliging !  But 
you've  driven  me  mad  with  it  all ! '  responded  he,  with  an 
impatient  toss. 

'  I'll  leave  you,  then,'  said  I ;  and  I  withdrew,  and  did 
not  trouble  him  with  my  presence  again  that  day,  except  for 
a  minute  or  two  at  a  time,  just  to  see  how  he  was  and  what 
he  wanted. 

Next  morning  the  doctor  ordered  him  to  be  bled ;  and 
after  that  he  was  more  subdued  and  tranquil.  I  passed 
half  the  day  in  his  room  at  different  intervals.  My  presence 
did  not  appear  to  agitate  or  irritate  him  as  before,  and  he 
accepted  my  services  quietly,  without  any  bitter  remarks  : 
indeed,  he  scarcely  spoke  at  all,  except  to  make  known  his 
wants,  and  hardly  then.  But  on  the  morrow,  that  is  to  say, 
in  proportion  as  he  recovered  from  the  state  of  exhaustion 
and  stupefaction,  his  ill-nature  appeared  to  revive. 


WILDFELL  HALL  439 

'  Oh,  this  sweet  revenge ! '  cried  he,  when  I  had  been 
doing  all  I  could  to  make  him  comfortable  and  to  remedy 
the  carelessness  of  his  nurse.  '  And  you  can  enjoy  it  with 
such  a  quiet  conscience  too,  because  it's  all  in  the  way  of 
duty.' 

'  It  is  well  for  me  that  I  am  doing  my  duty/  said  I,  with 
a  bitterness  I  could  not  repress,  '  for  it  is  the  only  comfort  I 
have  ;  and  the  satisfaction  of  my  own  conscience,  it  seems, 
is  the  only  reward  I  need  look  for ! ' 

He  looked  rather  surprised  at  the  earnestness  of  my 
manner. 

'  What  reward  did  you  look  for  ?  '  he  asked. 

'  You  will  think  me  a  liar  if  I  tell  you ;  but  I  did  hope  to 
benefit  you :  as  well  to  better  your  mind  as  to  alleviate 
your  present  sufferings ;  but  it  appears  I  am  to  do  neither ; 
your  own  bad  spirit  will  not  let  me.  As  far  as  you  are  con- 
cerned, I  have  sacrificed  my  own  feelings,  and  all  the  little 
earthly  comfort  that  was  left  me,  to  no  purpose  ;  and  every 
little  thing  I  do  for  you  is  ascribed  to  self-righteous  malice 
and  refined  revenge  ! ' 

'  It's  all  very  fine,  I  daresay,'  said  he,  eyeing  me  with 
stupid  amazement ;  '  and  of  course  I  ought  to  be  melted  to 
tears  of  penitence  and  admiration  at  the  sight  of  so  much 
generosity  and  superhuman  goodness ;  but  you  see  I  can't 
manage  it.  However,  pray  do  me  all  the  good  you  can,  if 
you  do  really  find  any  pleasure  in  it ;  for  you  perceive  I  am 
almost  as  miserable  just  now  as  you  need  wish  to  see  me. 
Since  you  came,  I  confess,  I  have  had  better  attendance 
than  before,  for  these  wretches  neglected  me  shamefully, 
and  all  my  old  friends  seem  to  have  fairly  forsaken  me. 
I've  had  a  dreadful  time  of  it,  I  assure  you :  I  sometimes 
thought  I  should  have  died :  do  you  think  there's  any 
chance  ? ' 

'  There's  always  a  chance  of  death ;  and  it  is  always  well 
to  live  with  such  a  chance  in  view.' 

'  Yes,  yes  !  but  do  you  think  there's  any  likelihood  that 
this  illness  will  have  a  fatal  termination  ?  ' 


440  THE   TENANT   OF 

'  I  cannot  tell ;  but,  supposing  it  should,  how  are  you 
prepared  to  meet  the  event  ? ' 

'  Why,  the  doctor  told  me  I  wasn't  to  think  about  it,  for  I 
was  sure  to  get  better  if  I  stuck  to  his  regimen  and  pre- 
scriptions.' 

'  I  hope  you  may,  Arthur ;  but  neither  the  doctor  nor  I 
can  speak  with  certainty  in  such  a  case ;  there  is  internal 
injury,  and  it  is  difficult  to  know  to  what  extent.' 

'  There  now !  you  want  to  scare  me  to  death.' 

'  No ;  but  I  don't  want  to  lull  you  to  false  security.  If  a 
consciousness  of  the  uncertainty  of  life  can  dispose  you  to 
serious  and  useful  thoughts,  I  would  not  deprive  you  of  the 
benefit  of  such  reflections,  whether  you  do  eventually  recover 
or  not.  Does  the  idea  of  death  appal  you  very  much  ?  ' 

'  It's  just  the  only  thing  I  can't  bear  to  think  of ;  so  if 
you've  any ' 

'  But  it  must  come  some  time,'  interrupted  I,  '  and  if  it  be 
years  hence,  it  will  as  certainly  overtake  you  as  if  it  came  to- 
day,—  and  no  doubt  be  as  unwelcome  then  as  now,  unless 
you ' 

'  Oh,  hang  it !  don't  torment  me  with  your  preachments 
now,  unless  you  want  to  kill  me  outright.  I  can't  stand  it, 
I  tell  you.  I've  sufferings  enough  without  that.  If  you 
think  there's  danger,  save  me  from  it ;  and  then,  in  gratitude, 
I'll  hear  whatever  you  like  to  say.' 

I  accordingly  dropped  the  unwelcome  topic.  And  now, 
Frederick,  I  think  I  may  bring  my  letter  to  a  close.  From 
these  details  you  may  form  your  own  judgment  of  the  state 
of  my  patient,  and  of  my  own  position  and  future  prospects. 
Let  me  hear  from  you  soon,  and  I  will  write  again  to  tell 
you  how  we  get  on ;  but  now  that  my  presence  is  tolerated, 
and  even  required,  in  the  sick-room,  I  shall  have  but  little 
time  to  spare  between  my  husband  and  my  son, — for  I  must 
not  entirely  neglect  the  latter :  it  would  not  do  to  keep  him 
always  with  Eachel,  and  I  dare  not  leave  him  for  a  moment 
with  any  of  the  other  servants,  or  suffer  him  to  be  alone,  lest 
he  should  meet  them.  If  his  father  get  worse,  I  shall  ask 


WILDFELL  HALL  441 

Esther  Hargrave  to  take  charge  of  him  for  a  time,  till  I  have 
reorganised  the  household  at  least ;  but  I  greatly  prefer 
keeping  him  under  my  own  eye. 

I  find  myself  in  rather  a  singular  position  :  I  am  exerting 
my  utmost  endeavours  to  promote  the  recovery  and  reforma- 
tion of  my  husband,  and  if  I  succeed,  what  shall  I  do  ?  My 
duty,  of  course, — but  how  ?  No  matter ;  I  can  perform  the 
task  that  is  before  me  now,  and  God  will  give  me  strength 
to  do  whatever  He  requires  hereafter.  Good-by,  dear 
Frederick. 

HELEN  HUNTINGDON. 

'  What  do  you  think  of  it  ? '  said  Lawrence,  as  I  silently 
refolded  the  letter. 

'  It  seems  to  me,'  returned  I,  '  that  she  is  casting  her 
pearls  before  swine.  May  they  be  satisfied  with  trampling 
them  under  their  feet,  and  not  turn  again  and  rend  her! 
But  I  shall  say  no  more  against  her :  I  see  that  she  was 
actuated  by  the  best  and  noblest  motives  in  what  she  has 
done ;  and  if  the  act  is  not  a  wise  one,  may  heaven  protect 
her  from  its  consequences !  May  I  keep  this  letter, 
Lawrence  ? — you  see  she  has  never  once  mentioned  me 
throughout — or  made  the  most  distant  allusion  to  me ; 
therefore,  there  can  be  no  impropriety  or  harm  in  it.' 

'  And,  therefore,  why  should  you  wish  to  keep  it  ?  ' 

'  Were  not  these  characters  written  by  her  hand  ?  and 
were  not  these  words  conceived  in  her  mind,  and  many  of 
them  spoken  by  her  lips  ?  ' 

'  Well,'  said  he.  And  so  I  kept  it ;  otherwise,  Halford, 
you  could  never  have  become  so  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
its  contents. 

'  And  when  you  write/  said  I, '  will  you  have  the  goodness 
to  ask  her  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  enlighten  my  mother  and 
sister  on  her  real  history  and  circumstance,  just  so  far  as  is 
necessary  to  make  the  neighbourhood  sensible  of  the  shame- 
ful injustice  they  have  done  her  ?  I  want  no  tender  mes- 
sages, but  just  ask  her  that,  and  tell  her  it  is  the  greatest 


442  THE   TENANT   OF 

favour  she  could  do  me ;  and  tell  her — no,  nothing  more. 
You  see  I  know  the  address,  and  I  might  write  to  her  myself, 
but  I  am  so  virtuous  as  to  refrain.' 

'  Well,  I'll  do  this  for  you,  Markham.' 

'And  as  soon  as  you  receive  an  answer,  you'll  let  me 
know  ? ' 

'If  all  be  well,  I'll  come  myself  and  tell  you  imme- 
diately.' 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

FIVE  or  six  days  after  this  Mr.  Lawrence  paid  us  the  honour 
of  a  call ;  and  when  he  and  I  were  alone  together — which  I 
contrived  as  soon  as  possible  by  bringing  him  out  to  look 
at  my  cornstacks — he  showed  me  another  letter  from  his 
sister.  This  one  he  was  quite  willing  to  submit  to  my  long- 
ing gaze ;  he  thought,  I  suppose,  it  would  do  me  good. 
The  only  answer  it  gave  to  my  message  was  this  : — 

'  Mr.  Markham  is  at  liberty  to  make  such  revelations 
concerning  me  as  he  judges  necessary.  He  will  know  that 
I  should  wish  but  little  to  be  said  on  the  subject.  I  hope 
he  is  well ;  but  tell  him  he  must  not  think  of  me.' 

I  can  give  you  a  few  extracts  from  the  rest  of  the  letter, 
for  I  was  permitted  to  keep  this  also — perhaps,  as  an  antidote 
to  all  pernicious  hopes  and  fancies. 

He  is  decidedly  better,  but  very  low  from  the  depressing 
effects  of  his  severe  illness  and  the  strict  regimen  he  is 
obliged  to  observe — so  opposite  to  all  his  previous  habits. 
It  is  deplorable  to  see  how  completely  his  past  life  has 
degenerated  his  once  noble  constitution,  and  vitiated  the 
whole  system  of  his  organization.  But  the  doctor  says  he 
may  now  be  considered  out  of  danger,  if  he  will  only 
continue  to  observe  the  necessary  restrictions.  Some  stimu- 
lating cordials  he  must  have,  but  they  should  be  judiciously 
diluted  and  sparingly  used  ;  and  I  find  it  very  difficult  to  keep 
him  to  this.  At  first,  his  extreme  dread  of  death  rendered 
the  task  an  easy  one ;  but  in  proportion  as  he  feels  his  acute 
suffering  abating,  and  sees  the  danger  receding,  the  more 
intractable  he  becomes.  Now,  also,  his  appetite  for  food  is 


444  THE   TENANT  OF 

beginning  to  return ;  and  here,  too,  his  long  habits  of  self- 
indulgence  are  greatly  against  him.  I  watch  and  restrain 
him  as  well  as  I  can,  and  often  get  bitterly  abused  for  my 
rigid  severity ;  and  sometimes  he  contrives  to  elude  my 
vigilance,  and  sometimes  acts  in  opposition  to  my  will.  But 
he  is  now  so  completely  reconciled  to  my  attendance  in 
general  that  he  is  never  satisfied  when  I  am  not  by  his  side. 
I  am  obliged  to  be  a  little  stiff  with  him  sometimes,  or  ho 
would  make  a  complete  slave  of  me ;  and  I  know  it  would 
be  unpardonable  weakness  to  give  up  all  other  interests  for 
him.  I  have  the  servants  to  overlook,  and  my  little  Arthur 
to  attend  to, — and  my  own  health  too,  all  of  which  would  be 
entirely  neglected  were  I  to  satisfy  his  exorbitant  demands. 
I  do  not  generally  sit  up  at  night,  for  I  think  the  nurse  who 
has  made  it  her  business  is  better  qualified  for  such  under- 
takings than  I  am ;  but  still,  an  unbroken  night's  rest  is  what  I 
but  seldom  enjoy,  and  never  can  venture  to  reckon  upon ; 
for  my  patient  makes  no  scruple  of  calling  me  up  at  an  hour 
when  his  wants  or  his  fancies  require  my  presence.  But  he 
is  manifestly  afraid  of  my  displeasure ;  and  if  at  one  time  he 
tries  my  patience  by  his  unreasonable  exactions,  and  fretful 
complaints  and  reproaches,  at  another  he  depresses  me  by 
his  abject  submission  and  deprecatory  self-abasement  when 
he  fears  he  has  gone  too  far.  But  all  this  I  can  readily 
pardon  ;  I  know  it  is  chiefly  the  result  of  his  enfeebled  frame 
and  disordered  nerves.  What  annoys  me  the  most,  is  his 
occasional  attempts  at  affectionate  fondness  that  I  can 
neither  credit  nor  return  ;  not  that  I  hate  him  :  his  sufferings 
and  my  own  laborious  care  have  given  him  some  claim  to 
my  regard — to  my  affection  even,  if  he  would  only  be  quiet 
and  sincere,  and  content  to  let  things  remain  as  they  are ; 
but  the  more  he  tries  to  conciliate  me,  the  more  I  shrink 
from  him  and  from  the  future. 

1  Helen,  what  do  you  mean  to  do  when  I  get  well  ?  '  he 
asked  this  morning.  '  Will  you  run  away  again  ? ' 

'  It  entirely  depends  upon  your  own  conduct.' 

'  Oh,  I'll  be  very  good.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  445 

'  But  if  I  find  it  necessary  to  leave  you,  Arthur,  I  shall 
not  "  run  away  "  :  you  know  I  have  your  own  promise  that  I 
may  go  whenever  I  please,  and  take  my  son  with  me.' 

'  Oh,  but  you  shall  have  no  cause.'  And  then  fol- 
lowed a  variety  of  professions,  which  I  rather  coldly 
checked. 

'  Will  you  not  forgive  me,  then  ? '  said  he. 

'  Yes, — I  have  forgiven  you  :  but  I  know  you  cannot  love 
me  as  you  once  did — and  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  you  were 
to,  for  I  could  not  pretend  to  return  it :  so  let  us  drop  the 
subject,  and  never  recur  to  it  again.  By  what  I  have  done 
for  you,  you  may  judge  of  what  I  will  do — if  it  be  not  incom- 
patible with  the  higher  duty  I  owe  to  my  son  (higher,  because 
he  never  forfeited  his  claims,  and  because  I  hope  to  do  more 
good  to  him  than  I  can  ever  do  to  you) ;  and  if  you  wish  me 
to  feel  kindly  towards  you,  it  is  deeds  not  words  which  must 
purchase  my  affection  and  esteem.' 

His  sole  reply  to  this  was  a  slight  grimace,  and  a  scarcely 
perceptible  shrug.  Alas,  unhappy  man !  words,  with  him, 
are  so  much  cheaper  than  deeds ;  it  was  as  if  I  had  said, 
'  Pounds,  not  pence,  must  buy  the  article  you  want.'  And 
then  he  sighed  a  querulous,  self-commiserating  sigh,  as  if  in 
pure  regret  that  he,  the  loved  and  courted  of  so  many  wor- 
shippers, should  be  now  abandoned  to  the  mercy  of  a  harsh, 
exacting,  cold-hearted  woman  like  that,  and  even  glad  of  what 
kindness  she  chose  to  bestow. 

'  It's  a  pity,  isn't  it?  '  said  I;  and  whether  I  rightly  divined 
his  musings  or  not,  the  observation  chimed  in  with  his 
thoughts,  for  he  answered — '  It  can't  be  helped,'  with  a  rueful 
smile  at  my  penetration. 

I  have  seen  Esther  Hargrave  twice.  She  is  a  charming 
creature,  but  her  blithe  spirit  is  almost  broken,  and  her  sweet 
temper  almost  spoiled,  by  the  still  unremitting  persecutions 
of  her  mother  in  behalf  of  her  rejected  suitor — not  violent, 
but  wearisome  and  unremitting  like  a  continual  dropping. 
The  unnatural  parent  seems  determined  to  make  her 


446  THE  TENANT  OF 

daughter's  life  a  burden,  if  she  will  not  yield  to  her 
desires. 

'  Mamma  does  all  she  can,'  said  she,  '  to  make  me  feel 
myself  a  burden  and  incumbrance  to  the  family,  and  the 
most  ungrateful,  selfish,  and  undutiful  daughter  that  ever 
was  born  ;  and  Walter,  too,  is  as  stern  and  cold  and  haughty 
as  if  he  hated  me  outright.  I  believe  I  should  have  yielded 
at  once  if  I  had  known,  from  the  beginning,  how  much  resist- 
ance would  have  cost  me ;  but  now,  for  very  obstinacy's 
sake,  I  will  stand  out ! ' 

'  A  bad  motive  for  a  good  resolve,'  I  answered.  '  But, 
however,  I  know  you  have  better  motives,  really,  for  your 
perseverance :  and  I  counsel  you  to  keep  them  still  in 
view.' 

'  Trust  me  I  will.  I  threaten  mamma  sometimes  that 
I'll  run  away,  and  disgrace  the  family  by  earning  my  own 
livelihood,  if  she  torments  me  any  more ;  and  then  that 
frightens  her  a  little.  But  I  will  do  it,  in  good  earnest,  if 
they  don't  mind.' 

'  Be  quiet  and  patient  a  while,'  said  I,  '  and  better  times 
will  come." 

Poor  girl !  I  wish  somebody  that  was  worthy  to  possess 
her  would  come  and  take  her  away —  don't  you,  Frederick? 

If  the  perusal  of  this  letter  filled  me  with  dismay  for 
Helen's  future  life  and  mine,  there  was  one  great  source  of 
consolation  :  it  was  now  in  my  power  to  clear  her  name  from 
every  foul  aspersion.  The  Millwards  and  the  Wilsons  should 
see  with  their  own  eyes  the  bright  sun  bursting  from  the 
cloud — and  they  should  be  scorched  and  dazzled  by  its 
beams  ; — and  my  own  friends  too  should  see  it — they  whose 
suspicions  had  been  such  gall  and  wormwood  to  my  soul. 
To  effect  this  I  had  only  to  drop  the  seed  into  the  ground, 
and  it  would  soon  become  a  stately,  branching  herb :  a  few 
words  to  my  mother  and  sister,  I  knew,  would  suffice  to 
spread  the  news  throughout  the  whole  neighbourhood,  with- 
out any  further  exertion  on  my  part. 


WILDFBLL  HALL  447 

Eose  was  delighted  ;  and  as  soon  as  I  had  told  her  all  I 
thought  proper — which  was  all  I  affected  to  know — she  flew 
with  alacrity  to  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  hasten  to 
carry  the  glad  tidings  to  the  Millwards  and  Wilsons — glad 
tidings,  I  suspect,  to  none  but  herself  and  Mary  Millward — 
that  steady,  sensible  girl,  whose  sterling  worth  had  been  so 
quickly  perceived  and  duly  valued  by  the  supposed  Mrs. 
Graham,  in  spite  of  her  plain  outside ;  and  who,  on  her  part, 
had  been  better  able  to  see  and  appreciate  that  lady's  true 
character  and  qualities  than  the  brightest  genius  among 
them. 

As  I  may  never  have  occasion  to  mention  her  again,  I 
may  as  well  tell  you  here  that  she  was  at  this  time  privately 
engaged  to  Eichard  Wilson — a  secret,  I  believe,  to  every  one 
but  themselves.  That  worthy  student  was  now  at  Cambridge, 
where  his  most  exemplary  conduct  and  his  diligent  persever- 
ance in  the  pursuit  of  learning  carried  him  safely  through, 
and  eventually  brought  him  with  hard-earned  honours,  and 
an  untarnished  reputation,  to  the  close  of  his  collegiate 
career.  In  due  time  he  became  Mr.  Millward's  first  and 
only  curate — for  that  gentleman's  declining  years  forced  him 
at  last  to  acknowledge  that  the  duties  of  his  extensive  parish 
were  a  little  too  much  for  those  vaunted  energies  which  he 
was  wont  to  boast  over  his  younger  and  less  active  brethren 
of  the  cloth.  This  was  what  the  patient,  faithful  lovers  had 
privately  planned  and  quietly  waited  for  years  ago ;  and  in 
due  time  they  were  united,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  little 
world  they  lived  in,  that  had  long  since  declared  them  both 
born  to  single  blessedness ;  affirming  it  impossible  that  the 
pale,  retiring  bookworm  should  ever  summon  courage 
to  seek  a  wife,  or  be  able  to  obtain  one  h*  he  did,  and 
equally  impossible  that  the  plain  looking,  plain-dealing,  un- 
attractive, unconciliating  Miss  Millward  should  ever  find  a 
husband. 

They  still  continued  to  live  at  the  vicarage,  the  lady 
dividing  her  time  between  her  father,  her  husband,  and  their 
poor  parishioners, — and  subsequently  her  rising  family ;  and 


448  THE  TENANT  OF 

now  that  the  Reverend  Michael  Millward  has  been  gathered 
to  his  fathers,  full  of  years  and  honours,  the  Reverend 
Eichard  Wilson  has  succeeded  him  to  the  vicarage  of  Linden- 
hope,  greatly  to  the  satisfaction  of  its  inhabitants,  who  had 
so  long  tried  and  fully  proved  his  merits,  and  those  of  his 
excellent  and  well-loved  partner. 

If  you  are  interested  in  the  after  fate  of  that  lady's  sister, 
I  can  only  tell  you — what  perhaps  you  have  heard  from 
another  quarter — that  some  twelve  or  thirteen  years  ago  she 
relieved  the  happy  couple  of  her  presence  by  marrying  a 

wealthy  tradesman  of  L ;  and  I  don't  envy  him  his 

bargain.  I  fear  she  leads  him  a  rather  uncomfortable  life, 
though,  happily,  he  is  too  dull  to  perceive  the  extent  of  his 
misfortune.  I  have  little  enough  to  do  with  her  myself  :  we 
have  not  met  for  many  years  ;  but,  I  am  well  assured,  she 
has  not  yet  forgotten  or  forgiven  either  her  former  lover,  or 
the  lady  whose  superior  qualities  first  opened  his  eyes  to  the 
folly  of  his  boyish  attachment. 

As  for  Richard  Wilson's  sister,  she,  having  been  wholly  un- 
able to  recapture  Mr.  Lawrence,  or  obtain  any  partner  rich 
and  elegant  enough  to  suit  her  ideas  of  what  the  husband  of 
Jane  Wilson  ought  to  be,  is  yet  in  single  blessedness.  Shortly 
after  the  death  of  her  mother  she  withdrew  the  light  of  her 
presence  from  Ryecote  Farm,  finding  it  impossible  any  longer 
to  endure  the  rough  manners  and  unsophisticated  habits  of 
her  honest  brother  Robert  and  his  worthy  wife,  or  the  idea 
of  being  identified  with  such  vulgar  people  in  the  eyes  of  the 

world,  and  took  lodgings  in the  county  town,  where  she 

lived,  and  still  lives,  I  suppose,  in  a  kind  of  close-fisted,  cold, 
uncomfortable  gentility,  doing  no  good  to  others,  and  but 
little  to  herself ;  spending  her  days  in  fancy-work  and 
scandal ;  referring  frequently  to  her  '  brother  the  vicar,'  and 
her  'sister,  the  vicar's  lady,'  but  never  to  her  brother  the 
farmer  and  her  sister  the  farmer's  wife  ;  seeing  as  much 
company  as  she  can  without  too  much  expense,  but  loving 
no  one  and  beloved  by  none— a  cold-hearted,  supercilious, 
keenly,  insidiously  censorious  old  maid. 


CHAPTEE  XLIX 

THOUGH  Mr.  Lawrence's  health  was  now  quite  re-established, 
my  visits  to  Woodford  were  as  unremitting  as  ever ;  though 
often  less  protracted  than  before.  We  seldom  talked  about 
Mrs.  Huntingdon ;  but  yet  we  never  met  without  mentioning 
her,  for  I  never  sought  his  company  but  with  the  hope  of 
hearing  something  about  her,  and  he  never  sought  mine  at 
all,  because  he  saw  me  often  enough  without.  But  I  always 
began  to  talk  of  other  things,  and  waited  first  to  see  if  he 
would  introduce  the  subject.  If  he  did  not,  I  would 
casually  ask,  '  Have  you  heard  from  your  sister  lately  ? ' 
If  he  said  '  No,'  the  matter  was  dropped  :  if  he  said  '  Yes,'  I 
would  venture  to  inquire,  '  How  is  she  ? '  but  never  '  How  is 
her  husband  ?  '  though  I  might  be  burning  to  know ;  because 
I  had  not  the  hypocrisy  to  profess  any  anxiety  for  his 
recovery,  and  I  had  not  the  face  to  express  any  desire  for 
a  contrary  result.  Had  I  any  such  desire  ? — I  fear  I  must 
plead  guilty ;  but  since  you  have  heard  my  confession,  you 
must  hear  my  justification  as  well — a  few  of  the  excuses,  at 
least,  wherewith  I  sought  to  pacify  my  own  accusing 
conscience. 

In  the  first  place,  you  see,  his  life  did  harm  to  others, 
and  evidently  no  good  to  himself ;  and  though  I  wished  it  to 
terminate,  I  would  not  have  hastened  its  close  if,  by  the 
lifting  of  a  finger,  I  could  have  done  so,  or  if  a  spirit  had 
whispered  in  my  ear  that  a  single  effort  of  the  will  would  be 
enough, — unless,  indeed,  I  had  the  power  to  exchange  him 
for  some  other  victim  of  the  grave,  whose  life  might  be  of 
service  to  his  race,  and  whose  death  would  be  lamented  by 
his  friends.  But  was  there  any  harm  in  wishing  that,  among 


450  THE  TENANT  OF 

the  many  thousands  whose  souls  would  certainly  be  required 
of  them  before  the  year  was  over,  this  wretched  mortal 
might  be  one  ?  I  thought  not ;  and  therefore  I  wished  with 
all  my  heart  that  it  might  please  heaven  to  remove  him  to  a 
better  world,  or  if  that  might  not  be,  still  to  take  him  out  of 
this  ;  for  if  he  were  unfit  to  answer  the  summons  now,  after 
a  warning  sickness,  and  with  such  an  angel  by  his  side,  it 
seemed  but  too  certain  that  he  never  would  be — that,  on  the 
contrary,  returning  health  would  bring  returning  lust  and 
villainy,  and  as  he  grew  more  certain  of  recovery,  more 
accustomed  to  her  generous  goodness,  his  feelings  would 
become  more  callous,  his  heart  more  flinty  and  impervious  to 
her  persuasive  arguments — but  God  knew  best.  Meantime, 
however,  I  could  not  but  be  anxious  for  the  result  of  His 
decrees ;  knowing,  as  I  did,  that  (leaving  myself  entirely  out 
of  the  question),  however  Helen  might  feel  interested  in  her 
husband's  welfare,  however  she  might  deplore  his  fate,  still 
while  he  lived  she  must  be  miserable. 

A  fortnight  passed  away,  and  my  inquiries  were  always 
answered  in  the  negative.  At  length  a  welcome  '  yes '  drew 
from  me  the  second  question.  Lawrence  divined  my  anxious 
thoughts,  and  appreciated  my  reserve.  I  feared,  at  first,  he 
was  going  to  torture  me  by  unsatisfactory  replies,  and  either 
leave  me  quite  in  the  dark  concerning  what  I  wanted  to 
know,  or  force  me  to  drag  the  information  out  of  him,  morsel 
by  morsel,  by  direct  inquiries.  '  And  serve  you  right,'  you 
will  say ;  but  he  was  more  merciful ;  and  in  a  little  while  he 
put  his  sister's  letter  into  my  hand.  I  silently  read  it,  and 
restored  it  to  him  without  comment  or  remark.  This  mode 
of  procedure  suited  him  so  well,  that  thereafter  he  always 
pursued  the  plan  of  showing  me  her  letters  at  once,  when  I 
inquired  after  her,  if  there  were  any  to  show — it  was  so  much 
less  trouble  than  to  tell  me  their  contents ;  and  I  received 
such  confidences  so  quietly  and  discreetly  that  he  was  never 
induced  to  discontinue  them. 

But  I  devoured  those  precious  letters  with  my  eyes,  and 
never  let  them  go  till  their  contents  were  stamped  upon  my 


WILDPELL   HALL  451 

mind ;  and  when  I  got  home,  the  most  important  passages 
were  entered  in  my  diary  among  the  remarkable  events  of 
the  day. 

The  first  of  these  communications  brought  intelligence  of 
a  serious  relapse  in  Mr.  Huntingdon's  illness,  entirely  the 
result  of  his  own  infatuation  in  persisting  in  the  indulgence 
of  his  appetite  for  stimulating  drink.  In  vain  had  she 
remonstrated,  in  vain  she  had  mingled  his  wine  with  water  : 
her  arguments  and  entreaties  were  a  nuisance,  her  inter- 
ference was  an  insult  so  intolerable  that,  at  length,  on  finding 
she  had  covertly  diluted  the  pale  port  that  was  brought  him, 
he  threw  the  bottle  out  of  window,  swearing  he  would  not 
be  cheated  like  a  baby,  ordered  the  butler,  on  pain  of  instant 
dismissal,  to  bring  a  bottle  of  the  strongest  wine  in  the  cellar, 
and  affirming  that  he  should  have  been  well  long  ago  if  he 
had  been  let  to  have  his  own  way,  but  she  wanted  to  keep 
him  weak  in  order  that  she  might  have  him  under  her  thumb 
— but,  by  the  Lord  Harry,  he  would  have  no  more  humbug 
— seized  a  glass  in  one  hand  and  the  bottle  in  the  other,  and 
never  rested  till  he  had  drunk  it  dry.  Alarming  symptoms 
were  the  immediate  result  of  this  '  imprudence,'  as  she  mildly 
termed  it — symptoms  which  had  rather  increased  than  di- 
minished since ;  and  this  was  the  cause  of  her  delay  in 
writing  to  her  brother.  Every  former  feature  of  his  malady 
had  returned  with  augmented  virulence  :  the  slight  external 
wound,  half  healed,  had  broken  out  afresh ;  internal  inflam- 
mation had  taken  place,  which  might  terminate  fatally  if  not 
soon  removed.  Of  course,  the  wretched  sufferer's  temper 
was  not  improved  by  this  calamity — in  fact,  I  suspect  it  was 
well  nigh  insupportable,  though  his  kind  nurse  did  not  com- 
plain ;  but  she  said  she  had  been  obliged  at  last  to  give  her 
son  in  charge  to  Esther  Hargrave,  as  her  presence  was  so 
constantly  required  in  the  sick-room  that  she  could  not 
possibly  attend  to  him  herself;  and  though  the  child  had 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  continue  with  her  there,  and  to  help 
her  to  nurse  his  papa,  and  though  she  had  no  doubt  he  would, 
have  been  very  good  and  quiet,  she  could  not  think  of  sub- 


452  TEE  TENANT  OF 

jecting  his  young  and  tender  feelings  to  the  sight  of  so  much 
suffering,  or  of  allowing  him  to  witness  his  father's  impatience, 
or  hear  the  dreadful  language  he  was  wont  to  use  in  his 
paroxysms  of  pain  or  irritation. 

The  latter  (continued  she)  most  deeply  regrets  the  step 
that  has  occasioned  his  relapse ;  but,  as  usual,  he  throws  the 
blame  upon  me.  If  I  had  reasoned  with  him  like  a  rational 
creature,  he  says,  it  never  would  have  happened  ;  but  to  be 
treated  like  a  baby  or  a  fool  was  enough  to  put  any  man 
past  his  patience,  and  drive  him  to  assert  his  independence 
even  at  the  sacrifice  of  his  own  interest.  He  forgets  how 
often  I  had  reasoned  him  '  past  his  patience '  before.  He 
appears  to  be  sensible  of  his  danger ;  but  nothing  can  induce 
him  to  behold  it  in  the  proper  light.  The  other  night,  while 
I  was  waiting  on  him,  and  just  as  I  had  brought  him  a 
draught  to  assuage  his  burning  thirst,  he  observed,  with  a 
return  of  his  former  sarcastic  bitterness,  '  Yes,  you're  mighty 
attentive  now !  I  suppose  there's  nothing  you  wouldn't  do 
for  me  now  ?  ' 

'  You  know,'  said  I,  a  little  surprised  at  his  manner,  '  that 
I  am  willing  to  do  anything  I  can  to  relieve  you.' 

'  Yes,  now,  my  immaculate  angel ;  but  when  once  you 
have  secured  your  reward,  and  find  yourself  safe  in  heaven, 
and  me  howling  in  hell-fire,  catch  you  lifting  a  finger  to  serve 
me  then  !  No,  you'll  look  complacently  on,  and  not  so  much 
as  dip  the  tip  of  your  finger  in  water  to  cool  my  tongue  !  ' 

'  If  so,  it  will  be  because  of  the  great  gulf  over  which  I 
cannot  pass  ;  and  if  I  could  look  complacently  on  in  such  a 
case,  it  would  be  only  from  the  assurance  that  you  were 
being  purified  from  your  sins,  and  fitted  to  enjoy  the  happi- 
ness I  felt. — But  are  you  determined,  Arthur,  that  I  shall  not 
meet  you  in  heaven  ? ' 

'  Humph !  What  should  I  do  there,  I  should  like  to 
know? ' 

'  Indeed,  I  cannot  tell ;  and  I  fear  it  is  too  certain  that 
your  tastes  and  feelings  must  be  widely  altered  before  you 
can  have  any  enjoyment  there.  But  do  you  prefer  sinking, 


WILDFELL  HALL  453 

without  an  effort,  into  the  state  of  torment  you  picture  to 
yourself  ? ' 

'  Oh,  it's  all  a  fable,'  said  he,  contemptuously. 

'  Are  you  sure,  Arthur  ?  are  you  quite  sure  ?  Because,  if 
there  is  any  doubt,  and  if  you  should  find  yourself  mistaken 
after  all,  when  it  is  too  late  to  turn ' 

'  It  would  be  rather  awkward,  to  be  sure,'  said  he  ;  '  but 
don't  bother  me  now — I'm  not  going  to  die  yet.  I  can't  and 
won't,'  he  added  vehemently,  as  if  suddenly  struck  with  the 
appalling  aspect  of  that  terrible  event.  '  Helen,  you  must 
save  me ! '  And  he  earnestly  seized  my  hand,  and  looked 
into  my  face  with  such  imploring  eagerness  that  my  heart 
bled  for  him,  and  I  could  not  speak  for  tears. 

The  next  letter  brought  intelligence  that  the  malady  was 
fast  increasing ;  and  the  poor  sufferer's  horror  of  death  was 
still  more  distressing  than  his  impatience  of  bodily  pain.  All 
his  friends  had  not  forsaken  him  ;  for  Mr.  Hattersley,  hearing 
of  his  danger,  had  come  to  see  him  from  his  distant  home  in 
the  north.  His  wife  had  accompanied  him,  as  much  for  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  her  dear  friend,  from  whom  she  had  been 
parted  so  long,  as  to  visit  her  mother  and  sister. 

Mrs.  Huntingdon  expressed  herself  glad  to  see  Milicent 
once  more,  and  pleased  to  behold  her  so  happy  and  well. 
She  is  now  at  the  Grove,  continued  the  letter,  but  she  often 
calls  to  see  me.  Mr.  Hattersley  spends  much  of  his  time  at 
Arthur's  bed-side.  With  more  good  feeling  than  I  gave  him 
credit  for,  he  evinces  considerable  sympathy  for  his  unhappy 
friend,  and  is  far  more  willing  than  able  to  comfort  him. 
Sometimes  he  tries  to  joke  and  laugh  with  him,  but  that  will 
not  do ;  sometimes  he  endeavours  to  cheer  him  with  talk 
about  old  times,  and  this  at  one  time  may  serve  to  divert  the 
sufferer  from  his  own  sad  thoughts  ;  at  another,  it  will  only 
plunge  him  into  deeper  melancholy  than  before ;  and  then 
Hattersley  is  confounded,  and  knows  not  what  to  say,  unless 
it  be  a  timid  suggestion  that  the  clergyman  might  be  sent  for. 
But  Arthur  will  never  consent  to  that :  he  knows  he  has 


454  THE  TENANT  OF 

rejected  the  clergyman's  well-meant  admonitions  with  scoff- 
ing levity  at  other  times,  and  cannot  dream  of  turning  to  him 
for  consolation  now. 

Mr.  Hattersley  sometimes  offers  his  services  instead  of 
mine,  but  Arthur  will  not  let  me  go  :  that  strange  whim  still 
increases,  as  his  strength  declines — the  fancy  to  have  me 
always  by  his  side.  I  hardly  ever  leave  him,  except  to  go 
into  the  next  room,  where  I  sometimes  snatch  an  hour  or  so 
of  sleep  when  he  is  quiet ;  but  even  then  the  door  is  left  ajar, 
that  he  may  know  me  to  be  within  call.  I  am  with  him  now, 
while  I  write,  and  I  fear  my  occupation  annoys  him  ;  though 
I  frequently  break  off  to  attend  to  him,  and  though  Mr. 
Hattersley  is  also  by  his  side.  That  gentleman  came,  as  he 
said,  to  beg  a  holiday  for  me,  that  I  might  have  a  run  in  the 
park,  this  fine  frosty  morning,  with  Milicent  and  Esther  and 
little  Arthur,  whom  he  had  driven  over  to  see  me.  Our 
poor  invalid  evidently  felt  it  a  heartless  proposition,  and 
would  have  felt  it  still  more  heartless  in  me  to  accede  to  it. 
I  therefore  said  I  would  only  go  and  speak  to  them  a  minute, 
and  then  come  back.  I  did  but  exchange  a  few  words  with 
them,  just  outside  the  portico,  inhaling  the  fresh,  bracing  air 
as  I  stood,  and  then,  resisting  the  earnest  and  eloquent 
entreaties  of  all  three  to  stay  a  little  longer,  and  join  them  in 
a  walk  round  the  garden,  I  tore  myself  away  and  returned 
to  my  patient.  I  had  not  been  absent  five  minutes,  but  he 
reproached  me  bitterly  for  my  levity  and  neglect.  His  friend 
espoused  my  cause. 

1  Nay,  nay,  Huntingdon,'  said  he,  '  you're  too  hard  upon 
her ;  she  must  have  food  and  sleep,  and  a  mouthful  of  fresh 
air  now  and  then,  or  she  can't  stand  it,  I  tell  you.  Look  at 
her,  man  !  she's  worn  to  a  shadow  already.' 

'  What  are  her  sufferings  to  mine  ? '  said  the  poor  invalid. 
'  You  don't  grudge  me  these  attentions,  do  you,  Helen  ? ' 

'No,  Arthur,  if  I  could  really  serve  you  by  them.  I 
would  give  my  life  to  save  you,  if  I  might.' 

'  Would  you,  indeed  ?     No  ! ' 

'  Most  willingly  I  would.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  455 

'  Ah !  that's  because  you  think  yourself  more  fit  to 
die ! ' 

There  was  a  painful  pause.  He  was  evidently  plunged  in 
gloomy  reflections ;  but  while  I  pondered  for  something  to 
say  that  might  benefit  without  alarming  him,  Hattersley, 
whose  mind  had  been  pursuing  almost  the  same  course, 
broke  silence  with,  '  I  say,  Huntingdon,  I  would  send  for  a 
parson  of  some  sort :  if  you  didn't  like  the  vicar,  you  know, 
you  could  have  his  curate,  or  somebody  else.' 

'  No  ;  none  of  them  can  benefit  me  if  she  can't,'  was  the 
answer.  And  the  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes  as  he  earnestly 
exclaimed,  '  Oh,  Helen,  if  I  had  listened  to  you,  it  never 
would  have  come  to  this  !  and  if  I  had  heard  you  long  ago — 
oh,  God  !  how  different  it  would  have  been  ! ' 

'  Hear  me  now,  then,  Arthur,'  said  I,  gently  pressing  his 
hand. 

'  It's  too  late  now,'  said  he  despondingly.  And  after  that 
another  paroxysm  of  pain  came  on;  and  then  his  mind 
began  to  wander,  and  we  feared  his  death  was  approaching : 
but  an  opiate  was  administered  :  his  sufferings  began  to  abate, 
he  gradually  became  more  composed,  and  at  length  sank  into 
a  kind  of  slumber.  He  has  been  quieter  since;  and  now 
Hattersley  has  left  him,  expressing  a  hope  that  he  shall  find 
him  better  when  he  calls  to-morrow. 

1  Perhaps  I  may  recover,'  he  replied  ;  '  who  knows  ?  This 
may  have  been  the  crisis.  What  do  you  think,  Helen  ?  ' 

Unwilling  to  depress  him,  I  gave  the  most  cheering 
answer  I  could,  but  still  recommended  him  to  prepare  for  the 
possibility  of  what  I  inly  feared  was  but  too  certain.  But  he 
was  determined  to  hope.  Shortly  after  he  relapsed  into  a 
kind  of  doze,  but  now  he  groans  again. 

There  is  a  change.  Suddenly  he  called  me  to  his  side, 
with  such  a  strange,  excited  manner,  that  I  feared  he  was 
delirious,  but  he  was  not.  '  That  was  the  crisis,  Helen  ! ' 
said  he,  delightedly.  'I  had  an  infernal  pain  here — it  is 
quite  gone  now.  I  never  was  so  easy  since  the  fall — quite 
gone,  by  heaven ! '  and  he  clasped  and  kissed  my  hand  in 

16 


456  THE  TENANT  OF 

the  very  fulness  of  his  heart ;  but  finding  I  did  not  participate 
his  joy,  he  quickly  flung  it  from  him,  and  bitterly  cursed  my 
coldness  and  insensibility.  How  could  I  reply  ?  Kneeling 
beside  him,  I  took  his  hand  and  fondly  pressed  it  to  my  lips 
— for  the  first  time  since  our  separation — and  told  him,  as 
well  as  tears  would  let  me  speak,  that  it  was  not  that  that 
kept  me  silent :  it  was  the  fear  that  this  sudden  cessation  of 
pain  was  not  so  favourable  a  symptom  as  he  supposed.  I 
immediately  sent  for  the  doctor :  we  are  now  anxiously 
awaiting  him.  I  will  tell  you  what  he  says.  There  is  still 
the  same  freedom  from  pain,  the  same  deadness  to  all 
sensation  where  the  suffering  was  most  acute. 

My  worst  fears  are  realised  :  mortification  has  com- 
menced. The  doctor  has  told  him  there  is  no  hope.  No 
words  can  describe  his  anguish.  I  can  write  no  more. 

The  next  was  still  more  distressing  in  the  tenor  of  its 
contents.  The  sufferer  was  fast  approaching  dissolution — 
dragged  almost  to  the  verge  of  that  awful  chasm  he  trembled 
to  contemplate,  from  which  no  agony  of  prayers  or  tears 
could  save  him.  Nothing  could  comfort  him  now ; 
Hattersley's  rough  attempts  at  consolation  were  utterly  in 
vain.  The  world  was  nothing  to  him :  life  and  all  its 
interests,  its  petty  cares  and  transient  pleasures,  were  a 
cruel  mockery.  To  talk  of  the  past  was  to  torture  him  with 
vain  remorse;  to  refer  to  the  future  was  to  increase  his 
anguish  ;  and  yet  to  be  silent  was  to  leave  him  a  prey  to  his 
own  regrets  and  apprehensions.  Often  he  dwelt  with 
shuddering  minuteness  on  the  fate  of  his  perishing  clay — the 
slow,  piecemeal  dissolution  already  invading  his  frame :  the 
shroud,  the  coffin,  the  dark,  lonely  grave,  and  all  the  horrors 
of  corruption. 

'  If  I  try,'  said  his  afflicted  wife,  '  to  divert  him  from  these 
things — to  raise  his  thoughts  to  higher  themes,  it  is  no 
better : — "  Worse  and  worse  !  "  he  groans.  If  there  be  really 
life  beyond  the  tomb,  and  judgment  after  death,  how  can  I 
face  it?" — I  cannot  do  him  any  good;  he  will  neither  be 


WILDFELL  HALL  457 

enlightened,  nor  roused,  nor  comforted  by  anything  I  say ; 
and  yet  he  clings  to  me  with  unrelenting  pertinacity — with  a 
kind  of  childish  desperation,  as  if  I  could  save  him  from  the 
fate  he  dreads.  He  keeps  me  night  and  day  beside  him. 
He  is  holding  my  left  hand  now,  while  I  write  ;  he  has  held 
it  thus  for  hours  :  sometimes  quietly,  with  his  pale  face 
upturned  to  mine :  sometimes  clutching  my  arm  with 
violence — the  big  drops  starting  from  his  forehead  at  the 
thoughts  of  what  he  sees,  or  thinks  he  sees,  before  him.  If 
I  withdraw  my  hand  for  a  moment  it  distresses  him. 

'  "  Stay  with  me,  Helen,"  he  says  ;  "  let  me  hold  you  so  : 
it  seems  as  if  harm  could  not  reach  me  while  you  are  here. 
But  death  will  come — it  is  coming  now — fast,  fast ! — and — 
oh,  if  I  could  believe  there  was  nothing  after  !  " 

'  "  Don't  try  to  believe  it,  Arthur ;  there  is  joy  and  glory 
after,  if  you  will  but  try  to  reach  it !  " 

'  "  What,  for  me?  "  he  said,  with  something  like  a  laugh. 
"  Are  we  not  to  be  judged  according  to  the  deeds  done  in  the 
body  ?  Where's  the  use  of  a  probationary  existence,  if  a 
man  may  spend  it  as  he  pleases,  just  contrary  to  God's 
decrees,  and  then  go  to  heaven  with  the  best — if  the  vilest 
sinner  may  win  the  reward  of  the  holiest  saint,  by  merely 
saying,  "  I  repent !  " 

'  "  But  if  you  sincerely  repent " 

'  "  I  can't  repent ;  I  only  fear." 

'  "  You  only  regret  the  past  for  its  consequences  to  your- 
self ?  " 

'  "  Just  so — except  that  I'm  sorry  to  have  wronged  you, 
Nell,  because  you're  so  good  to  me." 

' "  Think  of  the  goodness  of  God,  and  you  cannot  but  be 
grieved  to  have  offended  Him." 

' "  What  is  God  ? — I  cannot  see  Him  or  hear  Him. — God 
is  only  an  idea." 

'  "  God  is  Infinite  Wisdom,  and  Power,  and  Goodness — 
and  LOVE  ;  but  if  this  idea  is  too  vast  for  your  human  faculties 
— if  your  mind  loses  itself  in  its  overwhelming  infinitude,  fix 
it  on  Him  who  condescended  to  take  our  nature  upon  Him, 


458  THE  TENANT  OF 

who  was  raised  to  heaven  even  in  His  glorified  human  body, 
in  whom  the  fulness  of  the  Godhead  shines." 

'  But  he  only  shook  his  head  and  sighed.  Then,  in  another 
paroxysm  of  shuddering  horror,  he  tightened  his  grasp  on 
my  hand  and  arm,  and,  groaning  and  lamenting,  still  clung 
to  me  with  that  wild,  desperate  earnestness  so  harrowing  to 
my  soul,  because  I  know  I  cannot  help  him.  I  did  my  best 
to  soothe  and  comfort  him. 

1  "  Death  is  so  terrible,"  he  cried,  "  I  cannot  bear  it !  You 
don't  know,  Helen — you  can't  imagine  what  it  is,  because 
you  haven't  it  before  you !  and  when  I'm  buried,  you'll 
return  to  your  old  ways  and  be  as  happy  as  ever,  and  all  the 
world  will  go  on  just  as  busy  and  merry  as  if  I  had  never 
been  ;  while  I "  He  burst  into  tears. 

'  "  You  needn't  let  that  distress  you,"  I  said ;  "  we  shall 
all  follow  you  soon  enough." 

' "  I  wish  to  God  I  could  take  you  with  me  now ! "  he 
exclaimed  :  "  you  should  plead  for  me." 

' "  No  man  can  deliver  his  brother,  nor  make  agreement 
unto  God  for  him,"  I  replied  :  "  it  cost  more  to  redeem  their 
souls — it  cost  the  blood  of  an  incarnate  God,  perfect  and 
sinless  in  Himself,  to  redeem  us  from  the  bondage  of  the  evil 
one  : — let  Him  plead  for  you." 

'But  I  seem  to  speak  in  vain.  He  does  not  now,  as 
formerly,  laugh  these  blessed  truths  to  scorn :  but  still  he 
cannot  trust,  or  will  not  comprehend  them.  He  cannot 
linger  long.  He  suffers  dreadfully,  and  so  do  those  that  wait 
upon  him.  But  I  will  not  harass  you  with  further  details  : 
I  have  said  enough,  I  think,  to  convince  you  that  I  did  well 
to  go  to  him.' 

Poor,  poor  Helen  !  dreadful  indeed  her  trials  must  have 
been  !  And  I  could  do  nothing  to  lessen  them — nay,  it 
almost  seemed  as  if  I  had  brought  them  upon  her  myself  by 
my  own  secret  desires ;  and  whether  I  looked  at  her 
husband's  sufferings  or  her  own,  it  seemed  almost  like  a 
judgment  upon  myself  for  having  cherished  such  a  wish. 


WILDFELL  HALL  459 

The  next  day  but  one  there  came  another  letter.  That 
too  was  put  into  my  hands  without  a  remark,  and  these  are 
its  contents : — 

Dec.  5th. 

He  is  gone  at  last.  I  sat  beside  him  all  night,  with  my 
hand  fast  locked  in  his,  watching  the  changes  of  his  features 
and  listening  to  his  failing  breath.  He  had  been  silent  a 
long  time,  and  I  thought  he  would  never  speak  again,  when 
he  murmured,  faintly  but  distinctly, — '  Pray  for  me,  Helen  ! ' 

'  I  do  pray  for  you,  every  hour  and  every  minute,  Arthur ; 
but  you  must  pray  for  yourself.' 

His  lips  moved,  but  emitted  no  sound ; — then  his  looks 
became  unsettled ;  and,  from  the  incoherent,  half -uttered 
words  that  escaped  him  from  time  to  time,  supposing  him  to 
be  now  unconscious,  I  gently  disengaged  my  hand  from  his, 
intending  to  steal  away  for  a  breath  of  air,  for  I  was  almost 
ready  to  faint ;  but  a  convulsive  movement  of  the  fingers, 
and  a  faintly  whispered  '  Don't  leave  me ! '  immediately 
recalled  me :  I  took  his  hand  again,  and  held  it  till  he  was 
no  more — and  then  I  fainted.  It  was  not  grief;  it  was 
exhaustion,  that,  till  then,  I  had  been  enabled  successfully 
to  combat.  Oh,  Frederick !  none  can  imagine  the  miseries, 
bodily  and  mental,  of  that  death-bed  !  How  could  I  endure 
to  think  that  that  poor  trembling  soul  was  hurried  away  to 
everlasting  torment  ?  it  would  drive  me  mad.  But,  thank 
God,  I  have  hope — not  only  from  a  vague  dependence  on 
the  possibility  that  penitence  and  pardon  might  have  reached 
him  at  the  last,  but  from  the  blessed  confidence  that,  through 
whatever  purging  fires  the  erring  spirit  may  be  doomed  to 
pass — whatever  fate  awaits  it — still  it  is  not  lost,  and  God, 
who  hateth  nothing  that  He  hath  made,  will  bless  it  in  the 
end ! 

His  body  will  be  consigned  on  Thursday  to  that  dark 
grave  he  so  much  dreaded  ;  but  the  coffin  must  be  closed  as 
soon  as  possible.  If  you  will  attend  the  funeral,  come 
quickly,  for  I  need  help. 

HELEN  HUNTINGDON. 


CHAPTER  L 

ON  reading  this  I  had  no  reason  to  disguise  my  joy  and  hope 
from  Frederick  Lawrence,  for  I  had  none  to  be  ashamed  of. 
I  felt  no  joy  but  that  his  sister  was  at  length  released  from 
her  afflictive,  overwhelming  toil — no  hope  but  that  she 
would  in  time  recover  from  the  effects  of  it,  and  be  suffered 
to  rest  in  peace  and  quietness,  at  least,  for  the  remainder  of 
her  life.  I  experienced  a  painful  commiseration  for  her 
unhappy  husband  (though  fully  aware  that  he  had  brought 
every  particle  of  his  sufferings  upon  himself,  and  but  too  well 
deserved  them  all),  and  a  profound  sympathy  for  her  own 
afflictions,  and  deep  anxiety  for  the  consequences  of  those 
harassing  cares,  those  dreadful  vigils,  that  incessant  and 
deleterious  confinement  beside  a  living  corpse — for  I  was 
persuaded  she  had  not  hinted  half  the  sufferings  she  had  had 
to  endure. 

'  You  will  go  to  her,  Lawrence  ? '  said  I,  as  I  put  the 
letter  into  his  hand. 

1  Yes,  immediately.' 

'  That's  right !  I'll  leave  you,  then,  to  prepare  for  your 
departure.' 

'  I've  done  that  already,  while  you  were  reading  the  letter, 
and  before  you  came  ;  and  the  carriage  is  now  coming  round 
to  the  door.' 

Inly  approving  his  promptitude,  I  bade  him  good- 
morning,  and  withdrew.  He  gave  me  a  searching  glance  as 
we  pressed  each  other's  hands  at  parting ;  but  whatever  he 
sought  in  my  countenance,  he  saw  there  nothing  but  the 
most  becoming  gravity — it  might  be  mingled  with  a  little 


WILDFELL  HALL  461 

sternness  in  momentary  resentment  at  what  I  suspected  to  be 
passing  in  his  mind. 

Had  I  forgotten  my  own  prospects,  my  ardent  love,  my 
pertinacious  hopes?  It  seemed  like  sacrilege  to  revert  to 
them  now,  but  I  had  not  forgotten  them.  It  was,  however, 
with  a  gloomy  sense  of  the  darkness  of  those  prospects,  the 
fallacy  of  those  hopes,  and  the  vanity  of  that  affection,  that 
I  reflected  on  those  things  as  I  remounted  my  horse  and 
slowly  journeyed  homewards.  Mrs.  Huntingdon  was  free 
now ;  it  was  no  longer  a  crime  to  think  of  her — but  did  she 
ever  think  of  me?  Not  now — of  course  it  was  not  to  be 
expected — but  would  she  when  this  shock  was  over?  In 
all  the  course  of  her  correspondence  with  her  brother  (our 
mutual  friend,  as  she  herself  had  called  him)  she  had  never 
mentioned  me  but  once — and  that  was  from  necessity. 
This  alone  afforded  strong  presumption  that  I  was  already 
forgotten ;  yet  this  was  not  the  worst :  it  might  have  been 
her  sense  of  duty  that  had  kept  her  silent :  she  might  be 
only  trying  to  forget ;  but  in  addition  to  this,  I  had  a 
gloomy  conviction  that  the  awful  realities  she  had  seen  and 
felt,  her  reconciliation  with  the  man  she  had  once  loved,  his 
dreadful  sufferings  and  death,  must  eventually  efface  from 
her  mind  all  traces  of  her  passing  love  for  me.  She  might 
recover  from  these  horrors  so  far  as  to  be  restored  to  her 
former  health,  her  tranquillity,  her  cheerfulness  even — but 
never  to  those  feelings  which  would  appear  to  her,  hence- 
forth, as  a  fleeting  fancy,  a  vain,  illusive  dream  ;  especially 
as  there  was  no  one  to  remind  her  of  my  existence — no 
means  of  assuring  her  of  my  fervent  constancy,  now  that  we 
were  so  far  apart,  and  delicacy  forbade  me  to  see  her  or  to 
write  to  her,  for  months  to  come  at  least.  And  how  could  I 
engage  her  brother  in  my  behalf  ?  how  could  I  break  that 
icy  crust  of  shy  reserve  ?  Perhaps  he  would  disapprove  of 
my  attachment  now  as  highly  as  before  ;  perhaps  he  would 
think  me  too  poor — too  lowly  born,  to  match  with  his  sister. 
Yes,  there  was  another  barrier  :  doubtless  there  was  a  wide 
distinction  between  the  rank  and  circumstances  of  Mrs. 


462  THE  TENANT  OF 

Huntingdon,  the  lady  of  Grassdale  Manor,  and  those  of  Mrs. 
Graham,  the  artist,  the  tenant  of  Wildfell  Hall.  And  it 
might  be  deemed  presumption  in  me  to  offer  my  hand  to  the 
former,  by  the  world,  by  her  friends,  if  not  by  herself ;  a 
penalty  I  might  brave,  if  I  were  certain  she  loved  me  ;  but 
otherwise,  how  could  I  ?  And,  finally,  her  deceased  husband, 
with  his  usual  selfishness,  might  have  so  constructed  his 
will  as  to  place  restrictions  upon  her  marrying  again.  So 
that  you  see  I  had  reasons  enough  for  despair  if  I  chose  to 
indulge  it. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  with  no  small  degree  of  impatience 
that  I  looked  forward  to  Mr.  Lawrence's  return  from 
Grassdale  :  impatience  that  increased  in  proportion  as  his 
absence  was  prolonged.  He  stayed  away  some  ten  or 
twelve  days.  All  very  right  that  he  should  remain  to  com- 
fort and  help  his  sister,  but  he  might  have  written  to  tell  me 
how  she  was,  or  at  least  to  tell  me  when  to  expect  his  return ; 
for  he  might  have  known  I  was  suffering  tortures  of  anxiety 
for  her,  and  uncertainty  for  my  own  future  prospects.  And 
when  he  did  return,  all  he  told  me  about  her  was,  that  she 
had  been  greatly  exhausted  and  worn  by  her  unremitting 
exertions  in  behalf  of  that  man  who  had  been  the  scourge  of 
her  life,  and  had  dragged  her  with  him  nearly  to  the  portals 
of  the  grave,  and  was  still  much  shaken  and  depressed  by 
his  melancholy  end  and  the  circumstances  attendant  upon 
it ;  but  no  word  in  reference  to  me ;  no  intimation  that  my 
name  had  ever  passed  her  lips,  or  even  been  spoken  in  her 
presence.  To  be  sure,  I  asked  no  questions  on  the  subject ; 
I  could  not  bring  my  mind  to  do  so,  believing,  as  I  did,  that 
Lawrence  was  indeed  averse  to  the  idea  of  my  union  with 
his  sister. 

I  saw  that  he  expected  to  be  further  questioned  con- 
cerning his  visit,  and  I  saw  too,  with  the  keen  perception  of 
awakened  jealousy,  or  alarmed  self-esteem,  or  by  whatever 
name  I  ought  to  call  it,  that  he  rather  shrank  from  that 
impending  scrutiny,  and  was  no  less  pleased  than  surprised  to 
find  it  did  not  come.  Of  course,  I  was  burning  with  anger, 


WILDFELL  HALL  463 

but  pride  obliged  me  to  suppress  my  feelings,  and  preserve  a 
smooth  face,  or  at  least  a  stoic  calmness,  throughout  the 
interview.  It  was  well  it  did,  for,  reviewing  the  matter  in 
my  sober  judgment,  I  must  say  it  would  have  been  highly 
absurd  and  improper  to  have  quarrelled  with  him  on  such 
an  occasion*  I  must  confess,  too,  that  I  wronged  him  in  my 
heart :  the  truth  was,  he  liked  me  very  well,  but  he  was 
fully  aware  that  a  union  between  Mrs.  Huntingdon  and  me 
would  be  what  the  world  calls  a  mesalliance;  and  it  was 
not  in  his  nature  to  set  the  world  at  defiance ;  especially  in 
such  a  case  as  this,  for  its  dread  laugh,  or  ill  opinion,  would 
be  far  more  terrible  to  him  directed  against  his  sister  than 
himself.  Had  he  believed  that  a  union  was  necessary  to 
the  happiness  of  both,  or  of  either,  or  had  he  known  how 
fervently  I  loved  her,  he  would  have  acted  differently  ;  but 
seeing  me  so  calm  and  cool,  he  would  not  for  the  world 
disturb  my  philosophy  ;  and  though  refraining  entirely  from 
any  active  opposition  to  the  match,  he  would  yet  do  nothing 
to  bring  it  about,  and  would  much  rather  take  the  part  of 
prudence,  in  aiding  us  to  overcome  our  mutual  predilections, 
than  that  of  feeling,  to  encourage  them.  'And  he  was  in 
the  right  of  it,'  you  will  say.  Perhaps  he  was ;  at  any  rate, 
I  had  no  business  to  feel  so  bitterly  against  him  as  I  did  ; 
but  I  could  not  then  regard  the  matter  in  such  a  moderate 
light ;  and,  after  a  brief  conversation  upon  indifferent  topics, 
I  went  away,  suffering  all  the  pangs  of  wounded  pride  and 
injured  friendship,  in  addition  to  those  resulting  from  the 
fear  that  I  was  indeed  forgotten,  and  the  knowledge  that 
she  I  loved  was  alone  and  afflicted,  suffering  from  injured 
health  and  dejected  spirits,  and  I  was  forbidden  to  console 
or  assist  her :  forbidden  even  to  assure  her  of  my  sympathy, 
for  the  transmission  of  any  such  message  through  Mr. 
Lawrence  was  now  completely  out  of  the  question. 

But  what  should  I  do  ?  I  would  wait,  and  see  if  she  would 
notice  me,  which  of  course  she  would  not,  unless  by  some 
kind  message  intrusted  to  her  brother,  that,  in  all  probability, 
he  would  not  deliver,  and  then,  dreadful  thought !  she  would 


464  THE  TENANT  OF 

think  me  cooled  and  changed  for  not  returning  it,  or,  perhaps, 
he  had  already  given  her  to  understand  that  I  had  ceased  to 
think  of  her.  I  would  wait,  however,  till  the  six  months 
after  our  parting  were  fairly  passed  (which  would  be  about 
the  close  of  February),  and  then  I  would  send  her  a  letter, 
modestly  reminding  her  of  her  former  permission  to  write  to 
her  at  the  close  of  that  period,  and  hoping  I  might  avail  my- 
self of  it — at  least  to  express  my  heartfelt  sorrow  for  her 
late  afflictions,  my  just  appreciation  of  her  generous  conduct, 
and  my  hope  that  her  health  was  now  completely  re-esta- 
blished, and  that  she  would,  some  time,  be  permitted  to  enjoy 
those  blessings  of  a  peaceful,  happy  life,  which  had  been 
denied  her  so  long,  but  which  none  could  more  truly  be  said 
to  merit  than  herself — adding  a  few  words  of  kind  remem- 
brance to  my  little  friend  Arthur,  with  a  hope  that  he  had 
not  forgotten  me,  and  perhaps  a  few  more  in  reference  to  by- 
gone times,  to  the  delightful  hours  I  had  passed  in  her  society, 
and  my  unfading  recollection  of  them,  which  was  the  salt 
and  solace  of  my  life,  and  a  hope  that  her  recent  troubles 
had  not  entirely  banished  me  from  her  mind.  If  she  did  not 
answer  this,  of  course  I  should  write  no  more  :  if  she  did  (as 
surely  she  would,  in  some  fashion),  my  future  proceedings 
should  be  regulated  by  her  reply. 

Ten  weeks  was  long  to  wait  in  such  a  miserable  state  of 
uncertainty  ;  but  courage  !  it  must  be  endured !  and  mean- 
time I  would  continue  to  see  Lawrence  now  and  then,  though 
not  so  often  as  before,  and  I  would  still  pursue  my  habitual 
inquiries  after  his  sister,  if  he  had  lately  heard  from  her,  and 
how  she  was,  but  nothing  more. 

I  did  so,  and  the  answers  I  received  were  always  provok- 
ingly  limited  to  the  letter  of  the  inquiry :  she  was  much  as 
usual:  she  made  no  complaints,  but  the  tone  of  her  last 
letter  evinced  great  depression  of  mind :  she  said  she  was 
better :  and,  finally,  she  said  she  was  well,  and  very  busy 
with  her  son's  education,  and  with  the  management  of  her 
late  husband's  property,  and  the  regulation  of  his  affairs. 
The  rascal  had  never  told  me  how  that  property  was  disposed, 


WILDPELL  HALL  465 

or  whether  Mr.  Huntingdon  had  died  intestate  or  not ;  and 
I  would  sooner  die  than  ask  him,  lest  he  should  misconstrue 
into  covetousness  my  desire  to  know.  He  never  offered  to 
show  me  his  sister's  letters  now>  and  I  never  hinted  a  wish 
to  see  them.  February,  however,  was  approaching  ;  Decem- 
ber was  past ;  January,  at  length,  was  almost  over — a  few 
more  weeks,  and  then,  certain  despair  or  renewal  of  hope 
would  put  an  end  to  this  long  agony  of  suspense. 

But  alas  !  it  was  just  about  that  time  she  was  called  to 
sustain  another  blow  in  the  death  of  her  uncle — a  worthless 
old  fellow  enough  in  himself,  I  daresay,  but  he  had  always 
shown  more  kindness  and  affection  to  her  than  to  any  other 
creature,  and  she  had  always  been  accustomed  to  regard  him 
as  a  parent.  She  was  with  him  when  he  died,  and  had 
assisted  her  aunt  to  nurse  him  during  the  last  stage  of  his 
illness.  Her  brother  went  to  Staningley  to  attend  the  funeral, 
and  told  me,  upon  his  return,  that  she  was  still  there,  en- 
deavouring to  cheer  her  aunt  with  her  presence,  and  likely 
to  remain  some  time.  This  was  bad  news  for  me,  for  while 
she  continued  there  I  could  not  write  to  her,  as  I  did  not 
know  the  address,  and  would  not  ask  it  of  him.  But  week 
followed  week,  and  every  time  I  inquired  about  her  she 
was  still  at  Staningley. 

'  Where  is  Staningley  ?  '  I  asked  at  last. 

'  In shire,'  was  the  brief  reply ;  and  there  was  some- 
thing so  cold  and  dry  in  the  manner  of  it,  that  I  was 
effectually  deterred  from  requesting  a  more  definite  account. 

'  When  will  she  return  to  Grassdale  ?  '  was  my  next 
question. 

'  I  don't  know.' 

'  Confound  it ! '  I  muttered. 

'  Why,  Markham  ? '  asked  my  companion,  with  an  air  of 
innocent  surprise.  But  I  did  not  deign  to  answer  him,  save 
by  a  look  of  silent,  sullen  contempt,  at  which  he  turned 
away,  and  contemplated  the  carpet  with  a  slight  smile,  half 
pensive,  half  amused ;  but  quickly  looking  up,  he  began  to 
talk  of  other  subjects,  trying  to  draw  me  into  a  cheerful  and 


466  THE  TENANT  OF 

friendly  conversation,  but  I  was  too  much  irritated  to  dis- 
course with  him,  and  soon  took  leave. 

You  see  Lawrence  and  I  somehow  could  not  manage  to 
get  on  very  well  together.  The  fact  is,  I  believe,  we  were 
both  of  us  a  little  too  touchy.  It  is  a  troublesome  thing, 
Halford,  this  susceptibility  to  affronts  where  none  are 
intended.  I  am  no  martyr  to  it  now,  as  you  can  bear  me 
witness :  I  have  learned  to  be  merry  and  wise,  to  be  more 
easy  with  myself  and  more  indulgent  to  my  neighbours,  and 
I  can  afford  to  laugh  at  both  Lawrence  and  you. 

Partly  from  accident,  partly  from  wilful  negligence  on  my 
part  (for  I  was  really  beginning  to  dislike  him),  several 
weeks  elapsed  before  I  saw  my  friend  again.  When  we  did 
meet,  it  was  he  that  sought  me  out.  One  bright  morning, 
early  in  June,  he  came  into  the  field  where  I  was  just  com- 
mencing my  hay  harvest. 

'  It  is  long  since  I  saw  you,  Markham,'  said  he,  after  the 
first  few  words  had  passed  between  us.  '  Do  you  never  mean 
to  come  to  Woodford  again  ? ' 

1 1  called  once,  and  you  were  out.' 

'  I  was  sorry,  but  that  was  long  since ;  I  hoped  you 
would  call  again,  and  now  I  have  called,  and  you  were  out, 
which  you  generally  are,  or  I  would  do  myself  the  pleasure 
of  calling  more  frequently  ;  but  being  determined  to  see  you 
this  time,  I  have  left  my  pony  in  the  lane,  and  come  over 
hedge  and  ditch  to  join  you ;  for  I  am  about  to  leave  Wood- 
ford  for  a  while,  and  may  not  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
again  for  a  month  or  two.' 

'  Where  are  you  going  ? ' 

'  To  Grassdale  first,'  said  he,  with  a  half-smile  he  would 
willingly  have  suppressed  if  he  could. 

'  To  Grassdale  !     Is  she  there,  then  ? ' 

4  Yes,  but  in  a  day  or  two  she  will  leave  it  to  accompany 

Mrs.  Maxwell  to  F for  the  benefit  of  the  sea  air,  and  I 

shall  go  with  them.'     (F was  at  that  time  a  quiet  but 

respectable  watering-place  :  it  is  considerably  more  frequented 
now.) 


WILDFELL  HALL  467 

Lawrence  seemed  to  expect  me  to  take  advantage  of  this 
circumstance  to  entrust  him  with  some  sort  of  a  message  to 
his  sister ;  and  I  believe  he  would  have  undertaken  to  deliver 
it  without  any  material  objections,  if  I  had  had  the  sense  to 
ask  him,  though  of  course  he  would  not  offer  to  do  so,  if  I 
was  content  to  let  it  alone.  But  I  could  not  bring  myself  to 
make  the  request ;  and  it  was  not  till  after  he  was  gone,  that 
I  saw  how  fair  an  opportunity  I  had  lost ;  and  then,  indeed, 
I  deeply  regretted  my  stupidity  and  my  foolish  pride,  but  it 
was  now  too  late  to  remedy  the  evil. 

He  did  not  return  till  towards  the  latter  end  of  August. 

He  wrote  to  me  twice  or  thrice  from  F ,  but  his  letters 

were  most  provokingly  unsatisfactory,  dealing  in  generalities 
or  in  trifles  that  I  cared  nothing  about,  or  replete  with 
fancies  and  reflections  equally  unwelcome  to  me  at  the  time, 
saying  next  to  nothing  about  his  sister,  and  little  more 
about  himself.  I  would  wait,  however,  till  he  came  back ; 
perhaps  I  could  get  something  more  out  of  him  then.  At  all 
events,  I  would  not  write  to  her  now,  while  she  was  with 
him  and  her  aunt,  who  doubtless  would  be  still  more  hostile 
to  my  presumptuous  aspirations  than  himself.  When  she 
was  returned  to  the  silence  and  solitude  of  her  own  home, 
it  would  be  my  fittest  opportunity. 

When  Lawrence  came,  however,  he  was  as  reserved  as 
ever  on  the  subject  of  my  keen  anxiety,  He  told  me  that  his 

sister  had  derived  considerable  benefit  from  her  stay  at  F 

that  her  son  was  quite  well,  and — alas  !  that  both  of  them 
were  gone,  with  Mrs.  Maxwell,  back  to  Staningley,  and  there 
they  stayed  at  least  three  months.  But  instead  of  boring 
you  with  my  chagrin,  my  expectations  and  disappointments, 
my  fluctuations  of  dull  despondency  and  flickering  hope,  my 
varying  resolutions,  now  to  drop  it,  and  now  to  persevere — 
now  to  make  a  bold  push,  and  now  to  let  things  pass  and 
patiently  abide  my  time, — I  will  employ  myself  in  settling 
the  business  of  one  or  two  of  the  characters  introduced  in 
the  course  of  this  narrative,  whom  I  may  not  have  occasion 
to  mention  again. 


468  THE   TENANT   OP 

Some  time  before  Mr.  Huntingdon's  death  Lady  Low- 
borough  eloped  with  another  gallant  to  the  Continent,  where, 
having  lived  a  while  in  reckless  gaiety  and  dissipation,  they 
quarrelled  and  parted.  She  went  dashing  on  for  a  season, 
but  years  came  and  money  went :  she  sunk,  at  length,  in 
difficulty  and  debt,  disgrace  and  misery  ;  and  died  at  last,  as 
I  have  heard,  in  penury,  neglect,  and  utter  wretchedness. 
But  this  might  be  only  a  report :  she  may  be  living  yet  for 
anything  I  or  any  of  her  relatives  or  former  acquaintances 
can  tell ;  for  they  have  all  lost  sight  of  her  long  years  ago, 
and  would  as  thoroughly  forget  her  if  they  could.  Her 
husband,  however,  upon  this  second  misdemeanour,  imme- 
diately sought  and  obtained  a  divorce,  and,  not  long  after, 
married  again.  It  was  well  he  did,  for  Lord  Lowborough, 
morose  and  moody  as  he  seemed,  was  not  the  man  for  a 
bachelor's  life.  No  public  interests,  no  ambitious  projects,  or 
active  pursuits, — or  ties  of  friendship  even  (if  he  had  had  any 
friends),  could  compensate  to  him  for  the  absence  of  domestic 
comforts  and  endearments.  He  had  a  son  and  a  nominal 
daughter,  it  is  true,  but  they  too  painfully  reminded  him  of 
their  mother,  and  the  unfortunate  little  Annabella  was  a 
source  of  perpetual  bitterness  to  his  soul.  He  had  obliged 
himself  to  treat  her  with  paternal  kindness  :  he  had  forced 
himself  not  to  hate  her,  and  even,  perhaps,  to  feel  some 
degree  of  kindly  regard  for  her,  at  last,  in  return  for  her  artless 
and  unsuspecting  attachment  to  himself ;  but  the  bitterness 
of  his  self-condemnation  for  his  inward  feelings  towards  that 
innocent  being,  his  constant  struggles  to  subdue  the  evil 
promptings  of  his  nature  (for  it  was  not  a  generous  one), 
though  partly  guessed  at  by  those  who  knew  him,  could  be 
known  to  God  and  his  own  heart  alone ; — so  also  was  the 
hardness  of  his  conflicts  with  the  temptation  to  return  to  the 
vice  of  his  youth,  and  seek  oblivion  for  past  calamities,  and 
deadness  to  the  present  misery  of  a  blighted  heart  a  joyless, 
friendless  life,  and  a  morbidly  disconsolate  mind,  by  yielding 
again  to  that  insidious  foe  to  health,  and  sense,  and  virtue, 
which  had  so  deplorably  enslaved  and  degraded  him  before. 


WILDFELL  HALL  469 

The  second  object  of  his  choice  was  widely  different  from 
the  first.  Some  wondered  at  his  taste ;  some  even  ridiculed 
it — but  in  this  their  folly  was  more  apparent  than  his.  The 
lady  was  about  his  own  age — i.e.,  between  thirty  and  forty — 
remarkable  neither  for  beauty,  nor  wealth,  nor  brilliant 
accomplishments  ;  nor  any  other  thing  that  I  ever  heard  of, 
except  genuine  good  sense,  unswerving  integrity,  active  piety, 
warm-hearted  benevolence,  and  a  fund  of  cheerful  spirits. 
These  qualities,  however,  as  you  may  readily  imagine,  com- 
bined to  render  her  an  excellent  mother  to  the  children,  and 
an  invaluable  wife  to  his  lordship.  He,  with  his  usual  self- 
depreciation,  thought  her  a  world  too  good  for  him,  and 
while  he  wondered  at  the  kindness  of  Providence  in  conferring 
such  a  gift  upon  him,  and  even  at  her  taste  in  preferring  him 
to  other  men,  he  did  his  best  to  reciprocate  the  good  she  did 
him,  and  so  far  succeeded  that  she  was,  and  I  believe  still  is, 
one  of  the  happiest  and  fondest  wives  in  England ;  and  all 
who  question  the  good  taste  of  either  partner  may  be  thankful 
if  their  respective  selections  afford  them  half  the  genuine 
satisfaction  in  the  end,  or  repay  their  preference  with  affection 
half  as  lasting  and  sincere. 

If  you  are  at  all  interested  in  the  fate  of  that  low  scoundrel, 
Grimsby,  I  can  only  tell  you  that  he  went  from  bad  to  worse, 
sinking  from  bathos  to  bathos  of  vice  and  villainy,  consorting 
only  with  the  worst  members  of  his  club  and  the  lowest  dregs 
of  society — happily  for  the  rest  of  the  world — and  at  last 
met  his  end  in  a  drunken  brawl,  from  the  hands,  it  is  said, 
of  some  brother  scoundrel  he  had  cheated  at  play. 

As  for  Mr.  Hattersley,  he  had  never  wholly  forgotten  his 
resolution  to  '  come  out  from  among  them,'  and  behave  like 
a  man  and  a  Christian,  and  the  last  illness  and  death  of  his 
once  jolly  friend  Huntingdon  so  deeply  and  seriously 
impressed  him  with  the  evil  of  their  former  practices,  that  he 
never  needed  another  lesson  of  the  kind.  Avoiding  the 
temptations  of  the  town,  he  continued  to  pass  his  life  in  the 
country,  immersed  in  the  usual  pursuits  of  a  hearty,  active, 
country  gentleman  ;  his  occupations  being  those  of  farming, 


470  THE  TENANT  OP 

and  breeding  horses  and  cattle,  diversified  with  a  little 
hunting  and  shooting,  and  enlivened  by  the  occasional 
companionship  of  his  friends  (better  friends  than  those  of  his 
youth),  and  the  society  of  his  happy  little  wife  (now  cheerful 
and  confiding  as  heart  could  wish),  and  his  fine  family  of 
stalwart  sons  and  blooming  daughters.  His  father,  the 
banker,  having  died  some  years  ago  and  left  him  all  his 
riches,  he  has  now  full  scope  for  the  exercise  of  his  prevailing 
tastes,  and  I  need  not  tell  you  that  Ralph  Hattersley,  Esq., 
is  celebrated  throughout  the  country  for  his  noble  breed  of 
horses. 


CHAPTEE  LI 

WE  will  now  turn  to  a  certain  still,  cold,  cloudy  afternoon 
about  the  commencement  of  December,  when  the  first  fall  of 
snow  lay  thinly  scattered  over  the  blighted  fields  and  frozen 
roads,  or  stored  more  thickly  in  the  hollows  of  the  deep  cart- 
ruts  and  footsteps  of  men  and  horses  impressed  in  the  now 
petrified  mire  of  last  month's  drenching  rains.  I  remember 
it  well,  for  I  was  walking  home  from  the  vicarage  with  no 
less  remarkable  a  personage  than  Miss  Eliza  Millward  by  my 
side.  I  had  been  to  call  upon  her  father, — a  sacrifice  to 
civility  undertaken  entirely  to  please  my  mother,  not  myself, 
for  I  hated  to  go  near  the  house  ;  not  merely  on  account  of 
my  antipathy  to  the  once  so  bewitching  Eliza,  but  because  I 
had  not  half  forgiven  the  old  gentleman  himself  for  his  ill 
opinion  of  Mrs.  Huntingdon ;  for  though  now  constrained  to 
acknowledge  himself  mistaken  in  his  former  judgment,  he 
still  maintained  that  she  had  done  wrong  to  leave  her 
husband ;  it  was  a  violation  of  her  sacred  duties  as  a  wife, 
and  a  tempting  of  Providence  by  laying  herself  open  to 
temptation ;  and  nothing  short  of  bodily  ill-usage  (and  that 
of  no  trifling  nature)  could  excuse  such  a  step — nor  even  that, 
for  in  such  a  case  she  ought  to  appeal  to  the  laws  for  protec- 
tion. But  it  was  not  of  him  I  intended  to  speak ;  it  was  of 
his  daughter  Eliza.  Just  as  I  was  taking  leave  of  the  vicar, 
she  entered  the  room,  ready  equipped  for  a  walk. 

'  I  was  just  coming  to  see  your  sister,  Mr.  Markham/ 
said  she  ;  '  and  so,  if  you  have  no  objection,  I'll  accompany 
you  home.  I  like  company  when  I'm  walking  out — don't 
you?' 


472  THE   TENANT  OP 

'  Yes,  when  it's  agreeable.' 

'  That  of  course/  rejoined  the  young  lady,  smiling  archly. 
So  we  proceeded  together. 

'  Shall  I  find  Kose  at  home,  do  you  think  ?  '  said  she, 
as  we  closed  the  garden  gate,  and  set  our  faces  towards 
Linden-Car. 

'  I  believe  so.' 

'  I  trust  I  shall,  for  I've  a  little  bit  of  news  for  her — if 
you  haven't  forestalled  me.' 

•I?1 

'  Yes  :  do  you  know  what  Mr.  Lawrence  is  gone  for  ? ' 
She  looked  up  anxiously  for  my  reply. 

'  Is  he  gone  ? '  said  I ;  and  her  face  brightened. 

'  Ah  !  then  he  hasn't  told  you  about  his  sister  ?  ' 

'  What  of  her  ? '  I  demanded  in  terror,  lest  some  evil 
should  have  befallen  her. 

'  Oh,  Mr.  Markham,  how  you  blush ! '  cried  she,  with 
a  tormenting  laugh.  '  Ha,  ha,  you  have  not  forgotten 
her  yet.  But  you  had  better  be  quick  about  it,  I  can  tell 
you,  for — alas,  alas ! — she's  going  to  be  married  next 
Thursday ! ' 

'  No,  Miss  Eliza,  that's  false.' 

'  Do  you  charge  me  with  a  falsehood,  sir  ? ' 

'  You  are  misinformed.' 

'Ami?     Do  you  know  better,  then  ?  ' 

'  I  think  I  do.' 

'  What  makes  you  look  so  pale  then  ? '  said  she,  smiling 
with  delight  at  my  emotion.  '  Is  it  anger  at  poor  me  for 
telling  such  a  fib  ?  Well,  I  only  "  tell  the  tale  as  'twas  told 
to  me :  "  I  don't  vouch  for  the  truth  of  it ;  but  at  the  same 
time,  I  don't  see  what  reason  Sarah  should  have  for 
deceiving  me,  or  her  informant  for  deceiving  her ;  and  that 
was  what  she  told  me  the  footman  told  her  : — that  Mrs. 
Huntingdon  was  going  to  be  married  on  Thursday,  and  Mr. 
Lawrence  was  gone  to  the  wedding.  She  did  tell  me  the 
name  of  the  gentleman,  but  I've  forgotten  that.  Perhaps 
you  can  assist  me  to  remember  it.  Is  there  not  some  one  that 


WILDFELL  HALL  473 

lives  near — or  frequently  visits  the  neighbourhood,  that  has 
long  been  attached  to  her  ?— a  Mr. — oh,  dear  !  Mr. ' 

'  Hargrave  ?  '  suggested  I,  with  a  bitter  smile. 

'  You're  right,'  cried  she ;   '  that  was  the  very  name.' 

*  Impossible,  Miss  Eliza ! '  I  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  that 
made  her  start. 

'  Well,  you  know,  that's  what  they  told  me,'  said  she,  com- 
posedly staring  me  in  the  face.  And  then  she  broke  out  into 
a  long  shrill  laugh  that  put  me  to  my  wit's  end  with  fury. 

'  Eeally  you  must  excuse  me,'  cried  she.  '  I  know  it's 
very  rude,  but  ha,  ha,  ha  !— did  you  think  to  marry  her  your- 
self ?  Dear,  dear,  what  a  pity  ! — ha,  ha,  ha  !  Gracious,  Mr. 
Markham,  are  you  going  to  faint  ?  Oh,  mercy  !  shall  I  call 

this  man  ?  Here,  Jacob '  But  checking  the  word  on 

her  lips,  I  seized  her  arm  and  gave  it,  I  think,  a  pretty  severe 
squeeze,  for  she  shrank  into  herself  with  a  faint  cry  of  pain 
or  terror  ;  but  the  spirit  within  her  was  not  subdued  :  instantly 
rallying,  she  continued,  with  well-feigned  concern,  '  What  can 
I  do  for  you  ?  Will  you  have  some  water — some  brandy  ? 
I  daresay  they  have  some  in  the  public-house  down  there,  if 
you'll  let  me  run.' 

'  Have  done  with  this  nonsense  ! '  cried  I,  sternly.  She 
looked  confounded — almost  frightened  again,  for  a  moment. 
'  You  know  I  hate  such  jests,'  I  continued. 

'  Jests  indeed  !     I  wasn't  jesting  ! ' 

'  You  were  laughing,  at  all  events  ;  and  I  don't  like  to  be 
laughed  at,'  returned  I,  making  violent  efforts  to  speak  with 
proper  dignity  and  composure,  and  to  say  nothing  but  what 
was  coherent  and  sensible.  '  And  since  you  are  in  such  a 
merry  mood,  Miss  Eliza,  you  must  be  good  enough  company 
for  yourself ;  and  therefore  I  shall  leave  you  to  finish  your 
walk  alone — for,  now  I  think  of  it,  I  have  business  elsewhere  ; 
so  good-evening.' 

With  that  I  left  her  (smothering  her  malicious  laughter) 
and  turned  aside  into  the  fields,  springing  up  the  bank,  and 
pushing  through  the  nearest  gap  in  the  hedge.  Determined 
at  once  to  prove  the  truth — or  rather  the  falsehood — of  her 


474  THE   TENANT   OF 

story,  I  hastened  to  Woodford  as  fast  as  my  legs  could  carry 
me ;  first  veering  round  by  a  circuitous  course,  but  the 
moment  I  was  out  of  sight  of  my  fair  tormentor  cutting 
away  across  the  country,  just  as  a  bird  might  fly,  over  pas- 
ture-land, and  fallow,  and  stubble,  and  lane,  clearing  hedges 
and  ditches  and  hurdles,  till  I  came  to  the  young  squire's 
gates.  Never  till  now  had  I  known  the  full  fervour  of 
my  love — the  full  strength  of  my  hopes,  not  wholly  crushed 
even  in  my  hours  of  deepest  despondency,  always  tenaciously 
clinging  to  the  thought  that  one  day  she  might  be  mine,  or, 
if  not  that,  at  least  that  something  of  my  memory,  some 
slight  remembrance  of  our  friendship  and  our  love,  would  be 
for  ever  cherished  in  her  heart.  I  marched  up  to  the  door, 
determined,  if  I  saw  the  master,  to  question  him  boldly 
concerning  his  sister,  to  wait  and  hesitate  no  longer,  but  cast 
false  delicacy  and  stupid  pride  behind  my  back,  and  know 
my  fate  at  once. 

'  Is  Mr.  Lawrence  at  home  ? '  I  eagerly  asked  of  the 
servant  that  opened  the  door. 

'  No,  sir,  master  went  yesterday,'  replied  he,  looking  very 
alert. 

'  Went  where  ?  ' 

'  To  Grassdale,  sir— wasn't  you  aware,  sir  ?  He's  very 
close,  is  master,'  said  the  fellow,  with  a  foolish,  simpering 
grin.  '  I  suppose,  sir ' 

But  I  turned  and  left  him,  without  waiting  to  hear  what 
he  supposed.  I  was  not  going  to  stand  there  to  expose  my 
tortured  feelings  to  the  insolent  laughter  and  impertinent 
curiosity  of  a  fellow  like  that. 

But  what  was  to  be  done  now?  Could  it  be  possible 
that  she  had  left  me  for  that  man  ?  I  could  not  believe  it. 
Me  she  might  forsake,  but  not  to  give  herself  to  him  !  Well, 
I  would  know  the  truth ;  to  no  concerns  of  daily  life  could  I 
attend  while  this  tempest  of  doubt  and  dread,  of  jealousy 
and  rage,  distracted  me.  I  would  take  the  morning  coach 

from  L (the  evening  one  would  be  already  gone),  and  fly 

to  Grassdale — I  must  be  there  before  the  marriage.  And 


WILDFELL  HALL  475 

why  ?  Because  a  thought  struck  me  that  perhaps  I  might 
prevent  it — that  if  I  did  not,  she  and  I  might  both  lament  it 
to  the  latest  moment  of  our  lives.  It  struck  me  that  someone 
might  have  belied  me  to  her :  perhaps  her  brother ;  yes,  no  doubt 
her  brother  had  persuaded  her  that  I  was  false  and  faithless, 
and  taking  advantage  of  her  natural  indignation,  and  perhaps 
her  desponding  carelessness  about  her  future  life,  had  urged 
her,  artfully,  cruelly,  on  to  this  other  marriage,  in  order  to 
secure  her  from  me.  If  this  was  the  case,  and  if  she  should 
only  discover  her  mistake  when  too  late  to  repair  it — to  what 
a  life  of  misery  and  vain  regret  might  she  be  doomed  as  well 
as  me  ;  and  what  remorse  for  me  to  think  my  foolish  scruples 
had  induced  it  all !  Oh,  I  must  see  her — she  must  know  my 
truth  even  if  I  told  it  at  the  church  door !  I  might  pass  for 
a  madman  or  an  impertinent  fool — even  she  might  be  offended 
at  such  an  interruption,  or  at  least  might  tell  me  it  was  now 
too  late.  But  if  I  could  save  her,  if  she  might  be  mine  ! — it 
was  too  rapturous  a  thought ! 

Winged  by  this  hope,  and  goaded  by  these  fears,  I  hurried 
homewards  to  prepare  for  my  departure  on  the  morrow.  I 
told  my  mother  that  urgent  business  which  admitted  no 
delay,  but  which  I  could  not  then  explain,  called  me  away. 

My  deep  anxiety  and  serious  pre-occupation  could  not  be 
concealed  from  her  maternal  eyes ;  and  I  had  much  ado  to 
calm  her  apprehensions  of  some  disastrous  mystery. 

That  night  there  came  a  heavy  fall  of  snow,  which  so 
retarded  the  progress  of  the  coaches  on  the  following  day 
that  I  was  almost  driven  to  distraction.  I  travelled  all  night, 
of  course,  for  this  was  Wednesday :  to-morrow  morning, 
doubtless,  the  marriage  would  take  place.  But  the  night 
was  long  and  dark :  the  snow  heavily  clogged  the  wheels  and 
balled  the  horses'  feet ;  the  animals  were  consumedly  lazy  ; 
the  coachman  most  execrably  cautious ;  the  passengers  con- 
foundedly apathetic  in  their  supine  indifference  to  the  rate  of 
our  progression.  Instead  of  assisting  me  to  bully  the  several 
coachmen  and  urge  them  forward,  they  merely  stared  and 
grinned  at  my  impatience  :  one  fellow  even  ventured  to  rally 


476  THE   TENANT  OF 

me  upon  it — but  I  silenced  him  with  a  look  that  quelled  him 
for  the  rest  of  the  journey ;  and  when,  at  the  last  stage,  I 
would  have  taken  the  reins  into  my  own  hand,  they  all  with 
one  accord  opposed  it. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  we  entered  M and  drew 

up  at  the  '  Kose  and  Crown.'  I  alighted  and  called  aloud  for 
a  post-chaise  to  Grassdale.  There  was  none  to  be  had  :  the 
only  one  in  the  town  was  under  repair.  '  A  gig,  then — a 
fly — car — anything — only  be  quick  ! '  There  was  a  gig,  but 
not  a  horse  to  spare.  I  sent  into  the  town  to  seek  one  :  but 
they  were  such  an  intolerable  time  about  it  that  I  could  wait 
no  longer — I  thought  my  own  feet  could  carry  me  sooner ; 
and  bidding  them  send  the  conveyance  after  me,  if  it  were 
ready  within  an  hour,  I  set  off  as  fast  as  I  could  walk.  The 
distance  was  little  more  than  six  miles,  but  the  road  was 
strange,  and  I  had  to  keep  stopping  to  inquire  my  way  ; 
hallooing  to  carters  and  clodhoppers,  and  frequently  in- 
vading the  cottages,  for  there  were  few  abroad  that  winter's 
morning  ;  sometimes  knocking  up  the  lazy  people  from  their 
beds,  for  where  so  little  work  was  to  be  done,  perhaps  so 
little  food  and  fire  to  be  had,  they  cared  not  to  curtail  their 
slumbers.  I  had  no  time  to  think  of  them,  however ;  aching 
with  weariness  and  desperation,  I  hurried  on.  The  gig  did 
not  overtake  me :  and  it  was  well  I  had  not  waited  for  it ; 
vexatious  rather,  that  I  had  been  fool  enough  to  wait  so  long. 

At  length,  however,  I  entered  the  neighbourhood  of 
Grassdale.  I  approached  the  little  rural  church — but  lo ! 
there  stood  a  train  of  carriages  before  it ;  it  needed  not  the 
white  favours  bedecking  the  servants  and  horses,  nor  the 
merry  voices  of  the  village  idlers  assembled  to  witness  the 
show,  to  apprise  me  that  there  was  a  wedding  within.  I  ran 
in  among  them,  demanding,  with  breathless  eagerness,  had 
the  ceremony  long  commenced?  They  only  gaped  and 
stared.  In  my  desperation,  I  pushed  past  them,  and  was 
about  to  enter  the  churchyard  gate,  when  a  group  of  ragged 
urchins,  that  had  been  hanging  like  bees  to  the  window, 
suddenly  dropped  off  and  made  a  rush  for  the  porch, 


WILDFELL  HALL  477 

vociferating  in  the  uncouth  dialect  of  their  country  something 
which  signified,  '  It's  over — they're  coming  out ! ' 

If  Eliza  Millward  had  seen  me  then  she  might  indeed 
have  been  delighted.  I  grasped  the  gate-post  for  support, 
and  stood  intently  gazing  towards  the  door  to  take  my  last 
look  on  my  soul's  delight,  my  first  on  that  detested  mortal 
who  had  torn  her  from  my  heart,  and  doomed  her,  I  was 
certain,  to  a  life  of  misery  and  hollow,  vain  repining — for 
what  happiness  could  she  enjoy  with  him  ?  I  did  not  wish 
to  shock  her  with  my  presence  now,  but  I  had  not  power  to 
move  away.  Forth  came  the  bride  and  bridegroom.  Him  I 
saw  not ;  I  had  eyes  for  none  but  her.  A  long  veil  shrouded  half 
her  graceful  form,  but  did  not  hide  it ;  I  could  see  that  while 
she  carried  her  head  erect,  her  eyes  were  bent  upon  the  ground, 
and  her  face  and  neck  were  suffused  with  a  crimson  blush ; 
but  every  feature  was  radiant  with  smiles,  and  gleaming 
through  the  misty  whiteness  of  her  veil  were  clusters  of 
golden  ringlets  !  Oh,  heavens !  it  was  not  my  Helen  !  The 
first  glimpse  made  me  start — but  my  eyes  were  darkened 
with  exhaustion  and  despair.  Dare  I  trust  them  ?  Yes — it 
is  not  she !  It  was  a  younger,  slighter,  rosier  beauty — lovely 
indeed,  but  with  far  less  dignity  and  depth  of  soul— without 
that  indefinable  grace,  that  keenly  spiritual  yet  gentle  charm, 
that  ineffable  power  to  attract  and  subjugate  the  heart — my 
heart  at  least.  I  looked  at  the  bridegroom— it  was  Frederick 
Lawrence !  I  wiped  away  the  cold  drops  that  were  trickling 
down  my  forehead,  and  stepped  back  as  he  approached ;  but 
his  eyes  fell  upon  me,  and  he  knew  me,  altered  as  my 
appearance  must  have  been. 

'  Is  that  you,  Markham  ?  '  said  he,  startled  and  confounded 
at  the  apparition — perhaps,  too,  at  the  wildness  of  my  looks. 

'  Yes,  Lawrence ;  is  that  you  ?  '  I  mustered  the  presence 
of  mind  to  reply. 

He  smiled  and  coloured,  as  if  half-proud  and  half- 
ashamed  of  his  identity ;  and  if  he  had  r.eason  to  be  proud  of 
the  sweet  lady  on  his  arm,  he  had  no  less  cause  to  be  ashamed 
of  having  concealed  his  good  fortune  so  long. 


478  THE  TENANT  OP 

'Allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  my  bride/  said  he, 
endeavouring  to  hide  his  embarrassment  by  an  assumption 
of  careless  gaiety.  '  Esther,  this  is  Mr.  Markham  ;  my  friend 
Markham,  Mrs.  Lawrence,  late  Miss  Hargrave.' 

I  bowed  to  the  bride,  and  vehemently  wrung  the 
bridegroom's  hand. 

'  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  of  this  ? '  I  said,  reproachfully, 
pretending  a  resentment  I  did  not  feel  (for  in  truth  I  was 
almost  wild  with  joy  to  find  myself  so  happily  mistaken,  and 
overflowing  with  affection  to  him  for  this  and  for  the  base 
injustice  I  felt  that  I  had  done  him  in  my  mind — he  might 
have  wronged  me,  but  not  to  that  extent;  and  as  I  had 
hated  him  like  a  demon  for  the  last  forty  hours,  the  re- 
action from  such  a  feeling  was  so  great  that  I  could  pardon 
all  offences  for  the  moment — and  love  him  in  spite  of 
them  too). 

'  I  did  tell  you,'  said  he,  with  an  air  of  guilty  confusion ; 
'  you  received  my  letter  ? ' 

'  What  letter  ? ' 

'  The  one  announcing  my  intended  marriage.' 

'  I  never  received  the  most  distant  hint  of  such  an 
intention.' 

'  It  must  have  crossed  you  on  your  way  then — it  should 
have  reached  you  yesterday  morning — it  was  rather  late,  I 
acknowledge.  But  what  brought  you  here,  then,  if  you 
received  no  information  ? ' 

It  was  now  my  turn  to  be  confounded  ;  but  the  young 
lady,  who  had  been  busily  patting  the  snow  with  her  foot 
during  our  short  sotto-voce  colloquy,  very  opportunely  came 
to  my  assistance  by  pinching  her  companion's  arm  and 
whispering  a  suggestion  that  his  friend  should  be  invited  to 
step  into  the  carriage  and  go  with  them ;  it  being  scarcely 
agreeable  to  stand  there  among  so  many  gazers,  and  keeping 
their  friends  waiting  into  the  bargain. 

'  And  so  cold  as  it  is  too  ! '  said  he,  glancing  with  dismay 
at  her  slight  drapery,  and  immediately  handing  her  into  the 
carriage.  '  Markham,  will  you  come  ?  We  are  going  to 


WILDFELL  HALL  479 

Paris,  but   we   can   drop   you   anywhere   between  this  and 
Dover.' 

'  No,  thank  you.  Good-by — I  needn't  wish  you  a  pleasant 
j  ourney ;  but  I  shall  expect  a  very  handsome  apology,  some 
time,  mind,  and  scores  of  letters,  before  we  meet  again.' 

He  shook  my  hand,  and  hastened  to  take  his  place  beside 
his  lady.  This  was  no  time  or  place  for  explanation  or  dis- 
course :  we  had  already  stood  long  enough  to  excite  the  wonder 
of  the  village  sight-seers,  and  perhaps  the  wrath  of  the  atten- 
dant bridal  party;  though,  of  course,  all  this  passed  in  a 
much  shorter  time  than  I  have  taken  to  relate,  or  even  than 
you  will  take  to  read  it.  I  stood  beside  the  carriage,  and,  the 
window  being  down,  I  saw  my  happy  friend  fondly  encircle 
his  companion's  waist  with  his  arm,  while  she  rested  her 
glowing  cheek  on  his  shoulder,  looking  the  very  impersonation 
of  loving,  trusting  bliss.  In  the  interval  between  the  foot- 
man's closing  the  door  and  taking  his  place  behind  she 
raised  her  smiling  brown  eyes  to  his  face,  observing,  playfully, 
— '  I  fear  you  must  think  me  very  insensible,  Frederick  :  I 
know  it  is  the  custom  for  ladies  to  cry  on  these  occasions, 
but  I  couldn't  squeeze  a  tear  for  my  life.' 

He  only  answered  with  a  kiss,  and  pressed  her  still  closer 
to  his  bosom. 

'  But  what  is  this  ? '  he  murmured.  '  Why,  Esther,  you're 
crying  now  ! ' 

'  Oh,  it's  nothing — it's  only  too  much  happiness — and  the 
wish,'  sobbed  she,  '  that  our  dear  Helen  were  as  happy  as 
ourselves.' 

'  Bless  you  for  that  wish  !  '  I  inwardly  responded,  as  the 
carriage  rolled  away — '  and  heaven  grant  it  be  not  wholly 
vain  ! ' 

I  thought  a  cloud  had  suddenly  darkened  her  husband's 
face  as  she  spoke.  What  did  he  think  ?  Could  he  grudge 
such  happiness  to  his  dear  sister  and  his  friend  as  he  now  felt 
himself  ?  At  such  a  moment  it  was  impossible.  The  con- 
trast between  her  fate  and  his  must  darken  his  bliss  for  a 
time.  Perhaps,  too,  he  thought  of  me  :  perhaps  he  regretted 


480  THE  TENANT  OF 

the  part  he  had  had  in  preventing  our  union,  by  omitting  to 
help  us,  if  not  by  actually  plotting  against  us.  I  exonerated 
him  from  that  charge  now,  and  deeply  lamented  my  former 
ungenerous  suspicions ;  but  he  had  wronged  us,  still — I  hoped, 
I  trusted  that  he  had.  He  had  not  attempted  to  check  the 
course  of  our  love  by  actually  damming  up  the  streams  in 
their  passage,  but  he  had  passively  watched  the  two  currents 
wandering  through  life's  arid  wilderness,  declining  to  clear 
away  the  obstructions  that  divided  them,  and  secretly  hoping 
that  both  would  lose  themselves  in  the  sand  before  they  could 
be  joined  in  one.  And  meantime  he  had  been  quietly  proceed- 
ing with  his  own  affairs  ;  perhaps,  his  heart  and  head  had  been 
so  full  of  his  fair  lady  that  he  had  had  but  little  thought  to  spare 
for  others.  Doubtless  he  had  made  his  first  acquaintance 
with  her — his  first  intimate  acquaintance  at  least — during  his 

three  months'  sojourn  at  F ,  for  I  now  recollected  that 

he  had  once  casually  let  fall  an  intimation  that  his  aunt  and 
sister  had  a  young  friend  staying  with  them  at  the  time,  and 
this  accounted  for  at  least  one-half  his  silence  about  all 
transactions  there.  Now,  too,  I  saw  a  reason  for  many  little 
things  that  had  slightly  puzzled  me  before ;  among  the 
the  rest,  for  sundry  departures  from  Woodford,  and  absences 
more  or  less  prolonged,  for  which  he  never  satisfactorily 
accounted,  and  concerning  which  he  hated  to  be  questioned 
on  his  return.  Well  might  the  servant  say  his  master  was 
'  very  close.'  But  why  this  strange  reserve  to  me  ?  Partly, 
from  that  remarkable  idiosyncrasy  to  which  I  have  before 
alluded  ;  partly,  perhaps,  from  tenderness  to  my  feelings,  or 
fear  to  disturb  my  philosophy  by  touching  upon  the  infectious 
theme  of  love. 


CHAPTEE   LIT 

THE  tardy  gig  had  overtaken  me  at  last.  I  entered  it,  and 
bade  the  man  who  brought  it  drive  to  Grassdale  Manor — I 
was  too  busy  with  my  own  thoughts  to  care  to  drive  it 
myself.  I  would  see  Mrs.  Huntingdon — there  could  be  no 
impropriety  in  that  now  that  her  husband  had  been  dead 
above  a  year — and  by  her  indifference  or  her  joy  at  my 
unexpected  arrival  I  could  soon  tell  whether  her  heart  was 
truly  mine.  But  my  companion,  a  loquacious,  forward  fellow, 
was  not  disposed  to  leave  me  to  the  indulgence  of  my  private 
cogitations. 

'  There  they  go ! '  said  he,  as  the  carriages  filed  away 
before  us.  '  There'll  be  brave  doings  on  yonder  to-day,  as 
what  come  to-morra. — Know  anything  of  that  family,  sir? 
or  you're  a  stranger  in  these  parts  ? ' 

'  I  know  them  by  report.' 

'  Humph  !  There's  the  best  of  'em  gone,  anyhow.  And 
I  suppose  the  old  missis  is  agoing  to  leave  after  this  stir's 
gotten  overed,  and  take  herself  off,  somewhere,  to  live  on  her 
bit  of  a  jointure ;  and  the  young  'un — at  least  the  new  'un 
(she's  none  so  very  young) — is  coming  down  to  live  at  the 
Grove.' 

'  Is  Mr.  Hargrave  married,  then  ? ' 

'  Ay,  sir,  a  few  months  since.  He  should  a  been  wed 
afore,  to  a  widow  lady,  but  they  couldn't  agree  over  the 
money  :  she'd  a  rare  long  purse,  and  Mr.  Hargrave  wanted 
it  all  to  hisself ;  but  she  wouldn't  let  it  go,  and  so  then  they 
fell  out.  This  one  isn't  quite  as  rich,  nor  as  handsome  either, 
but  she  hasn't  been  married  before.  She's  very  plain,  they 

1 1 


482  THE   TENANT   OF 

say,  and  getting  on  to  forty  or  past,  and  so,  you  know,  if  she 
didn't  jump  at  this  hopportunity,  she  thought  she'd  never  get 
a  better.  I  guess  she  thought  such  a  handsome  young 
husband  was  worth  all  'at  ever  she  had,  and  he  might  take  it 
and  welcome ;  but  I  lay  she'll  rue  her  bargain  afore  long. 
They  say  she  begins  already  to-  see  'at  he  isn't  not  altogether 
that  nice,  generous,  perlite,  delightful  gentleman  'at  she 
thought  him  afore  marriage — he  begins  a  being  careless  and 
masterful  already.  Ay,  and  she'll  find  him  harder  and 
carelesser  nor  she  thinks  on.' 

'  You  seem  to  be  well  acquainted  with  him,'  I  observed. 

'  I  am,  sir ;  I've  known  him  since  he  was  quite  a  young 
gentleman  ;  and  a  proud  'un  he  was,  and  a  wilful.  I  was 
servant  yonder  for  several  years  ;  but  I  couldn't  stand  their 
niggardly  ways — she  got  ever  longer  and  worse,  did  missis, 
with  her  nipping  and  screwing,  and  watching  and  grudging ; 
so  I  thought  I'd  find  another  place.' 

'  Are  we  not  near  the  house  ? '  said  I,  interrupting  him. 

'  Yes,  sir ;  yond's  the  park.' 

My  heart  sank  within  me  to  behold  that  stately  mansion 
in  the  midst  of  its  expansive  grounds.  The  park  as  beautiful 
now,  in  its  wintry  garb,  as  it  could  be  in  its  summer  glory  : 
the  majestic  sweep,  the  undulating  swell  and  fall,  displayed 
to  full  advantage  in  that  robe  of  dazzling  purity,  stainless 
and  printless — save  one  long,  winding  track  left  by  the  troop- 
ing deer — the  stately  timber-trees  with  their  heavy-laden 
branches  gleaming  white  against  the  dull,  grey  sky  ;  the  deep, 
encircling  woods  ;  the  broad  expanse  of  water  sleeping  in 
frozen  quiet ;  and  the  weeping  ash  and  willow  drooping 
their  snow-clad  boughs  above  it — all  presented  a  picture, 
striking  indeed,  and  pleasing  to  an  unencumbered  mind,  but 
by  no  means  encouraging  to  me.  There  was  one  comfort, 
however, — all  this  was  entailed  upon  little  Arthur,  and 
could  not  under  any  circumstances,  strictly  speaking,  be  his 
mother's.  But  how  was  she  situated  ?  Overcoming  with  a 
sudden  effort  my  repugnance  to  mention  her  name  to  my 
garrulous  companion,  I  asked  him  if  he  knew  whether  her 


WILDFELL  HALL  483 

late  husband  had  left  a  will,  and  how  the  property  had  been 
disposed  of.  Oh,  yes,  he  knew  all  about  it ;  and  I  was 
quickly  informed  that  to  her  had  been  left  the  full  control 
and  management  of  the  estate  during  her  son's  minority, 
besides  the  absolute,  unconditional  possession  of  her  own 
fortune  (but  I  knew  that  her  father  had  not  given  her  much), 
and  the  small  additional  sum  that  had  been  settled  upon  her 
before  marriage. 

Before  the  close  of  the  explanation  we  drew  up  at  the 
park-gates.  Now  for  the  trial.  If  I  should  find  her  within — 
but  alas  !  she  might  be  still  at  Staningley  :  her  brother  had 
given  me  no  intimation  to  the  contrary.  I  inquired  at  the 
porter's  lodge  if  Mrs.  Huntingdon  were  at  home.  No,  she 

was  with  her  aunt  in shire,  but  was  expected  to  return 

before  Christmas.  She  usually  spent  most  of  her  time  at 
Staningley,  only  coming  to  Grassdale  occasionally,  when  the 
management  of  affairs,  or  the  interest  of  her  tenants  and 
dependents,  required  her  presence. 

'  Near  what  town  is  Staningley  situated  ?  '  I  asked.  The 
requisite  information  was  soon  obtained.  '  Now  then,  my 

man,  give  me  the  reins,  and  we'll  return  to  M .  I  must 

have  some  breakfast  at  the  "Eose  and  Crown,"  and  then 
away  to  Staningley  by  the  first  coach  for .' 

At  M I  had  time  before  the  coach  started  to  replenish 

my  forces  with  a  hearty  breakfast,  and  to  obtain  the  refresh- 
ment of  my  usual  morning's  ablutions,  and  the  amelioration 
of  some  slight  change  in  my  toilet,  and  also  to  despatch  a 
short  note  to  my  mother  (excellent  son  that  I  was),  to  assure 
her  that  I  was  still  in  existence,  and  to  excuse  my  non- 
appearance  at  the  expected  time.  It  was  a  long  journey  to 
Staningley  for  those  slow-travelling  days  ;  but  I  did  not  deny 
myself  needful  refreshment  on  the  road,  nor  even  a  night's 
rest  at  a  wayside  inn,  choosing  rather  to  brook  a  little  delay 
than  to  present  myself  worn,  wild,  and  weather-beaten  before 
my  mistress  and  her  aunt,  who  would  be  astonished  enough 
to  see  me  without  that.  Next  morning,  therefore,  I  not  only 
fortified  myself  with  as  substantial  a,  breakfast  as  my  excited 


484  THE   TENANT   OF 

feelings  would  allow  me  to  swallow,  but  I  bestowed  a  little 
more  than  usual  time  and  care  upon  my  toilet ;  and,  furnished 
with  a  change  of  linen  from  my  small  carpet-bag,  well- 
brushed  clothes,  well-polished  boots,  and  neat  new  gloves,  I 
mounted  '  The  Lightning,'  and  resumed  my  journey.  I  had 
nearly  two  stages  yet  before  me,  but  the  coach,  I  was  informed, 
passed  through  the  neighbourhood  of  Staningley,  and 
having  desired  to  be  set  down  as  near  the  Hall  as  possible,  I 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  sit  with  folded  arms  and  speculate 
upon  the  coming  hour. 

It  was  a  clear,  frosty  morning.  The  very  fact  of  sitting 
exalted  aloft,  surveying  the  snowy  landscape  and  sweet 
sunny  sky,  inhaling  the  pure,  bracing  air,  and  crunching 
away  over  the  crisp  frozen  snow,  was  exhilarating  enough  in 
itself  ;  but  add  to  this  the  idea  of  to  what  goal  I  was  hastening, 
and  whom  I  expected  to  meet,  and  you  may  have  some  faint 
conception  of  my  frame  of  mind  at  the  time — only  a  faint 
one,  though  :  for  my  heart  swelled  with  unspeakable  delight, 
and  my  spirits  rose  almost  to  madness,  in  spite  of  my  prudent 
endeavours  to  bind  them  down  to  a  reasonable  platitude  by 
thinking  of  the  undeniable  difference  between  Helen's  rank 
and  minej  of  all  that  she  had  passed  through  since  our 
parting  ;  of  her  long,  unbroken  silence ;  and,  above  all,  of  her 
cool,  cautious  aunt,  whose  counsels  she  would  doubtless  be 
careful  not  to  slight  again.  These  considerations  made  my 
heart  flutter  with  anxiety,  and  my  chest  heave  with 
impatience  to  get  the  crisis  over  ;  but  they  could  not  dim  her 
image  in  my  mind,  or  mar  the  vivid  recollection  of  what  had 
been  said  and  felt  between  us,  or  destroy  the  keen  anticipa- 
tion of  what  was  to  be  :  in  fact,  I  could  not  realise  their 
terrors  now.  Towards  the  close  of  the  journey,  however,  a 
couple  of  my  fellow-passengers  kindly  came  to  my  assistance, 
and  brought  me  low  enough. 

'  Fine  land  this,'  said  one  of  them,  pointing  with  his 
umbrella  to  the  wide  fields  on  the  right,  conspicuous  for  their 
compact  hedgerows,  deep,  well-cut  ditches,  and  fine  timber- 
trees,  growing  sometimes  on  the  borders,  sometimes  in  the 


WILDFELL  HALL  485 

midst  of  the  enclosure  :  '  very  fine  land,  if  you  saw  it  in  the 
summer  or  spring.' 

'  Ay,'  responded  the  other,  a  gruff  elderly  man,  with  a  drab 
great-coat  buttoned  up  to  the  chin,  and  a  cotton  umbrella 
between  his  knees.  '  It's  old  Maxwell's,  I  suppose.' 

'  It  was  his,  sir ;  but  he's  dead  now,  you're  aware,  and 
has  left  it  all  to  his  niece.' 

'All?' 

'  Every  rood  of  it,  and  the  mansion-house  and  all !  every 
hatom  of  his  worldly  goods,  except  just  a  trifle,  by  way  of 

remembrance,  to  his  nephew  down  in   shire,   and   an 

annuity  to  his  wife.' 

'  It's  strange,  sir  !  ' 

'  It  is,  sir  ;  and  she  wasn't  his  own  niece  neither.  But 
he  had  no  near  relations  of  his  own — none  but  a  nephew  he'd 
quarrelled  with ;  and  he  always  had  a  partiality  for  this  one. 
And  then  his  wife  advised  him  to  it,  they  say :  she'd  brought 
most  of  the  property,  and  it  was  her  wish  that  this  lady 
should  have  it.' 

'  Humph  !     She'll  be  a  fine  catch  for  somebody.' 

'  She  will  so.  She's  a  widow,  but  quite  young  yet,  and 
uncommon  handsome  :  a  fortune  of  her  own,  besides,  and 

only  one  child,  and  she's  nursing  a  fine  estate  for  him  in . 

There'll  be  lots  to  speak  for  her  !  'fraid  there's  no  chance 
for  uz' — (facetiously  jogging  me  with  his  elbow,  as  well  as 
his  companion) — '  ha,  ha,  ha  !  No  offence,  sir,  I  hope  ?  '- 
(to  me).  '  Ahem  !  I  should  think  she'll  marry  none  but  a 
nobleman  myself.  Look  ye,  sir,'  resumed  he,  turning  to  his 
other  neighbour,  and  pointing  past  me  with  his  umbrella, 
'  that's  the  Hall :  grand  park,  you  see,  and  all  them  woods 
— plenty  of  timber  there,  and  lots  of  game.  Hallo !  what 
now  ? ' 

This  exclamation  was  occasioned  by  the  sudden  stoppage 
of  the  coach  at  the  park-gates. 

'  Gen'leman  for  Staningley  Hall  ?  '  cried  the  coachman  ; 
and  I  rose  and  threw  my  carpet-bag  on  to  the  ground,  pre- 
paratory to  dropping  myself  down  after  it. 


486  THE  TENANT  OF 

'  Sickly,  sir  ?  '  asked  my  talkative  neighbour,  staring  me 
in  the  face.  I  daresay  it  was  white  enough. 

'  No.     Here,  coachman  ! ' 

'  Thank'ee,  sir. — All  right ! ' 

The  coachman  pocketed  his  fee  and  drove  away,  leaving 
me,  not  walking  up  the  park,  but  pacing  to  and  fro  before 
its  gates,  with  folded  arms,  and  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground, 
an  overwhelming  force  of  images,  thoughts,  impressions 
crowding  on  my  mind,  and  nothing  tangibly  distinct  but  this : 
My  love  had  been  cherished  in  vain — my  hope  was  gone  for 
ever ;  I  must  tear  myself  away  at  once,  and  banish  or  sup- 
press all  thoughts  of  her,  like  the  remembrance  of  a  wild,  mad 
dream.  Gladly  would  I  have  lingered  round  the  place  for 
hours,  in  the  hope  of  catching  at  least  one  distant  glimpse  of 
her  before  I  went,  but  it  must  not  be — I  must  not  suffer  her 
to  see  me ;  for  what  could  have  brought  me  hither  but  the 
hope  of  reviving  her  attachment,  with  a  view  hereafter  to 
obtain  her  hand  ?  And  could  I  bear  that  she  should  think 
me  capable  of  such  a  thing  ? — of  presuming  upon  the 
acquaintance — the  love,  if  you  will — accidentally  contracted, 
or  rather  forced  upon  her  against  her  will,  when  she  was  an 
unknown  fugitive,  toiling  for  her  own  support,  apparently 
without  fortune,  family,  or  connections  ;  to  come  upon  her 
now,  when  she  was  reinstated  in  her  proper  sphere,  and  claim 
a  share  in  her  prosperity,  which,  had  it  never  failed  her, 
would  most  certainly  have  kept  her  unknown  to  me  for  ever  ? 
And  this,  too,  when  we  had  parted  sixteen  months  ago,  and 
she  had  expressly  forbidden  me  to  hope  for  a  re-union  in 
this  world,  and  never  sent  me  a  line  or  a  message  from  that 
day  to  this.  No !  The  very  idea  was  intolerable. 

And  even  if  she  should  have  a  lingering  affection  for  me 
still,  ought  I  to  disturb  her  peace  by  awakening  those  feel- 
ings ?  to  subject  her  to  the  struggles  of  conflicting  duty  and 
inclination — to  whichsoever  side  the  latter  might  allure,  or 
the  former  imperatively  call  her — whether  she  should  deem 
it  her  duty  to  risk  the  slights  and  censures  of  the  world, 
the  sorrow  and  displeasure  of  those  she  loved,  for  a 


WILDFELL  HALL  487 

i 

romantic  idea  of  truth  and  constancy  to  me,  or  to  sacrifice  her 
individual  wishes  to  the  feelings  of  her  friends  and  her  own 
sense  of  prudence  and  the  fitness  of  things  ?  No — and  I 
would  not !  I  would  go  at  once,  and  she  should  never  know 
that  I  had  approached  the  place  of  her  abode  :  for  though  I 
might  disclaim  all  idea  of  ever  aspiring  to  her  hand,  or  even 
of  soliciting  a  place  in  her  friendly  regard,  her  peace  should 
not  be  broken  by  my  presence,  nor  her  heart  afflicted  by  the 
sight  of  my  fidelity. 

'  Adieu  then,  dear  Helen,  for  ever  !     For  ever  adieu ! ' 
So   said   I — and   yet   I  could  not  tear  myself  away.     I 
moved  a  few  paces,  and  then  looked  back,  for  one  last  view 
of  her  stately  home,  that  I  might  have  its  outward  form,  at 
least,  impressed  upon  my  mind  as  indelibly  as  her  own  image, 
which,  alas  !  I  must  not  see  again — then  walked  a  few  steps 
further  ;  and  then,  lost  in  melancholy  musings,  paused  again 
and  leant  my  back  against  a  rough  old  tree  that  grew  beside 
the  road.    • 
17 


CHAPTER  LIII 

WHILE  standing  thus,  absorbed  in  my  gloomy  reverie,  a 
gentleman's  carriage  came  round  the  corner  of  the  road.  I 
did  not  look  at  it  ;  and  had  it  rolled  quietly  by  me,  I  should 
not  have  remembered  the  fact  of  its  appearance  at  all ;  but 
a  tiny  voice  from  within  it  roused  me  by  exclaiming, '  Mamma, 
mamma,  here's  Mr.  Markham  ! ' 

I  did  not  hear  the  reply,  but  presently  the  same  voice 
answered,  '  It  is  indeed,  mamma — look  for  yourself.' 

I  did  not  raise  my  eyes,  but  I  suppose  mamma  looked, 
for  a  clear  melodious  voice,  whose  tones  thrilled  through  my 
nerves,  exclaimed,  '  Oh,  aunt !  here's  Mr.  Markham,  Arthur's 
friend !  Stop,  Kichard  ! ' 

There  was  such  evidence  of  joyous  though  suppresed  ex- 
citement in  the  utterance  of  those  few  words — especially  that 
tremulous,  '  Oh,  aunt ' — that  it  threw  me  almost  off  my 
guard.  The  carriage  stopped  immediately,  and  I  looked  up 
and  met  the  eye  of  a  pale,  grave,  elderly  lady  surveying  me 
from  the  open  window.  She  bowed,  and  so  did  I,  and  then 
she  withdrew  her  head,  while  Arthur  screamed  to  the  foot- 
man to  let  him  out ;  but  before  that  functionary  could  de- 
scend from  his  box  a  hand  was  silently  put  forth  from  the 
carriage  window.  I  knew  that  hand,  though  a  black  glove 
concealed  its  delicate  whiteness  and  half  its  fair  proportions, 
and  quickly  seizing  it,  I  pressed  it  in  my  own — ardently  for 
a  moment,  but  instantly  recollecting  myself,  I  dropped  it, 
and  it  was  immediately  withdrawn. 

'  Were  you  coming  to  see  us,  or  only  passing  by  ?  '  asked 
the  low  voice  of  its  owner,  who,  I  felt,  was  attentively  sur- 


WILDFELL  HALL  489 

veying  my  countenance  from  behind  the  thick  black  veil 
which,  with  the  shadowing  panels,  entirely  concealed  her 
own  from  me. 

'  I — I  came  to  see  the  place/  faltered  I. 

'  The  place,'  repeated  she,  in  a  tone  which  betokened 
more  displeasure  or  disappointment  than  surprise. 

'  Will  you  not  enter  it,  then  ? ' 

'  If  you  wish  it.' 

'  Can  you  doubt  ? ' 

'  Yes,  yes  !  he  must  enter,'  cried  Arthur,  running  round 
from  the  other  door;  and  seizing  my  hand  in  both  his,  he 
shook  it  heartily. 

'  Do  you  remember  me,  sir  ? '  said  he. 

'  Yes,  full  well,  my  little  man,  altered  though  you  are,' 
replied  I,  surveying  the  comparatively  tall,  slim  young 
gentleman,  with  his  mother's  image  visibly  stamped  upon  his 
fair,  intelligent  features,  in  spite  of  the  blue  eyes  beaming 
with  gladness,  and  the  bright  locks  clustering  beneath  his  cap. 

'  Am  I  not  grown  ? '  said  he,  stretching  himself  up  to  his 
full  height. 

'  Grown  !  three  inches,  upon  my  word  ! ' 

'  I  was  seven  last  birthday,'  was  the  proud  rejoinder.  '  In 
seven  years  more  I  shall  be  as  tall  as  you  nearly.' 

'  Arthur,'  said  his  mother,  '  tell  him  to  come  in.  Go  on, 
Eichard.' 

There  was  a  touch  of  sadness  as  well  as  coldness  in  her 
voice,  but  I  knew  not  to  what  to  ascribe  it.  The  carriage  drove 
on  and  entered  the  gates  before  us.  My  little  companion 
led  me  up  the  park,  discoursing  merrily  all  the  way. 
Arrived  at  the  hall-door,  I  paused  on  the  steps  and  looked 
round  me,  waiting  to  recover  my  composure,  if  possible — or, 
at  any  rate,  to  remember  my  new-formed  resolutions  and 
the  principles  on  which  they  were  founded  ;  and  it  was  not 
till  Arthur  had  been  for  some  time  gently  pulling  my  coat, 
and  repeating  his  invitations  to  enter,  that  I  at  length 
consented  to  accompany  him  into  the  apartment  where  the 
ladies  awaited  us. 


490  THE  TENANT  OF 

Helen  eyed  me  as  I  entered  with  a  kind  of  gentle,  serious 
scrutiny,  and  politely  asked  after  Mrs.  Markham  and  Eose. 
I  respectfully  answered  her  inquiries.  Mrs.  Maxwell  begged 
me  to  be  seated,  observing  it  was  rather  cold,  but  she  sup- 
posed I  had  not  travelled  far  that  morning. 

'  Not  quite  twenty  miles,'  I  answered. 

'  Not  on  foot  1 ' 

'  No,  Madam,  by  coach.' 

'  Here's  Eachel,  sir,'  said  Arthur,  the  only  truly  happy  one 
amongst  us,  directing  my  attention  to  that  worthy  individual, 
who  had  just  entered  to  take  her  mistress's  things.  She 
vouchsafed  me  an  almost  friendly  smile  of  recognition — a 
favour  that  demanded,  at  least,  a  civil  salutation  on  my 
part,  which  was  accordingly  given  and  respectfully  returned 
— she  had  seen  the  error  of  her  former  estimation  of  my 
character. 

When  Helen  was  divested  of  her  lugubrious  bonnet  and 
veil,  her  heavy  winter  cloak,  &c.,  she  looked  so  like  herself 
that  I  knew  not  how  to  bear  it.  I  was  particularly  glad  to 
see  her  beautiful  black  hair,  unstinted  still,  and  unconcealed 
in  its  glossy  luxuriance. 

'  Mamma  has  left  off  her  widow's  cap  in  honour  of  uncle's 
marriage,'  observed  Arthur,  reading  my  looks  with  a  child's 
mingled  simplicity  and  quickness  of  observation.  Mamma 
looked  grave  and  Mrs.  Maxwell  shook  her  head.  '  And  aunt 
Maxwell  is  never  going  to  leave  off  hers,'  persisted  the 
naughty  boy ;  but  when  he  saw  that  his  pertness  was  seriously 
displeasing  and  painful  to  his  aunt,  he  went  and  silently  put 
his  arm  round  her  neck,  kissed  her  cheek,  and  withdrew  to 
the  recess  of  one  of  the  great  bay-windows,  where  he  quietly 
amused  himself  with  his  dog,  while  Mrs.  Maxwell  gravely 
discussed  with  me  the  interesting  topics  of  the  weather,  the 
season,  and  the  roads.  I  considered  her  presence  very  useful 
as  a  check  upon  my  natural  impulses — an  antidote  to  those 
emotions  of  tumultuous  excitement  which  would  otherwise 
have  carried  me  away  against  my  reason  and  my  will ;  but 
just  then  I  felt  the  restraint  almost  intolerable,  and  I  had 


WILDFELL  HALL  491 

the  greatest  difficulty  in  forcing  myself  to  attend  to  her  re- 
marks and  answer  them  with  ordinary  politeness  ;  for  I  was 
sensible  that  Helen  was  standing  within  a  few  feet  of  me 
beside  the  fire.  I  dared  not  look  at  her,  but  I  felt  her  eye 
was  upon  me,  and  from  one  hasty,  furtive  glance,  I  thought 
her  cheek  was  slightly  flushed,  and  that  her  fingers,  as  she 
played  with  her  watch-chain,  were  agitated  with  that  restless, 
trembling  motion  which  betokens  high  excitement. 

'  Tell  me,'  said  she,  availing  herself  of  the  first  pause  in 
the  attempted  conversation  between  her  aunt  and  me,  and 
speaking  fast  and  low,  with  her  eyes  bent  on  the  gold  chain 
— for  I  now  ventured  another  glance — '  Tell  me  how  you  all 
are  at  Lindenhope — has  nothing  happened  since  I  left  you  ? ' 

'  I  believe  not.' 

'  Nobody  dead  ?  nobody  married  ?  ' 

'No.' 

'  Or — or  expecting  to  marry  ? — No  old  ties  dissolved  or 
new  ones  formed  ?  no  old  friends  forgotten  or  supplanted  ? ' 

She  dropped  her  voice  so  low  in  the  last  sentence  that  no 
one  could  have  caught  the  concluding  words  but  myself,  and 
at  the  same  time  turned  her  eyes  upon  me  with  a  dawning 
smile,  most  sweetly  melancholy,  and  a  look  of  timid  though 
keen  inquiry  that  made  my  cheeks  tingle  with  inexpressible 
emotions. 

'  I  believe  not,'  I  answered.  '  Certainly  not,  if  others  are 
as  little  changed  as  I.'  Her  face  glowed  in  sympathy  with 
mine. 

'  And  you  really  did  not  mean  to  call  ?  '  she  exclaimed. 

'  I  feared  to  intrude.' 

'  To  intrude ! '  cried  she,  with  an  impatient  gesture. 
What — '  but  as  if  suddenly  recollecting  her  aunt's  presence, 
she  checked  herself,  and,  turning  to  that  lady,  continued — 
'  Why,  aunt,  this  man  is  my  brother's  close  friend,  and  was  my 
own  intimate  acquaintance  (for  a  few  short  months  at  least), 
and  professed  a  great  attachment  to  my  boy — and  when  he 
passes  the  house,  so  many  scores  of  miles  from  his  home,  he 
declines  to  look  in  for  fear  of  intruding  ! ' 


492  THE   TENANT  OF 

'  Mr.  Markham  is  over-modest,'  observed  Mrs.  Maxwell. 

1  Over-ceremonious  rather/  said  her  niece — '  over — well, 
it's  no  matter.'  And  turning  from  me,  she  seated  herself  in 
a  chair  beside  the  table,  and  pulling  a  book  to  her  by  the 
cover,  began  to  turn  over  the  leaves  in  an  energetic  kind  of 
abstraction. 

'  If  I  had  known,'  said  I,  '  that  you  would  have  honoured 
me  by  remembering  me  as  an  intimate  acquaintance,  I  most 
likely  should  not  have  denied  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling 
upon  you,  but  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  me  long  ago.' 

'  You  judged  of  others  by  yourself,'  muttered  she  without 
raising  her  eyes  from  the  book,  but  reddening  as  she  spoke, 
and  hastily  turning  over  a  dozen  leaves  at  once. 

There  was  a  pause,  of  which  Arthur  thought  he  might 
venture  to  avail  himself  to  introduce  his  handsome  young 
setter,  and  show  me  how  wonderfully  it  was  grown  and 
improved,  and  to  ask  after  the  welfare  of  its  father  Sancho. 
Mrs.  Maxwell  then  withdrew  to  take  off  her  things.  Helen 
immediately  pushed  the  book  from  her,  and  after  silently 
surveying  her  son,  his  friend,  and  his  dog  for  a  few  moments, 
she  dismissed  the  former  from  the  room  under  pretence  of 
wishing  him  to  fetch  his  last  new  book  to  show  me.  The 
child  obeyed  with  alacrity ;  but  I  continued  caressing  the 
dog.  The  silence  might  have  lasted  till  its  master's  return,  had 
it  depended  on  me  to  break  it ;  but,  in  half  a  minute  or  less, 
my  hostess  impatiently  rose,  and,  taking  her  former  station 
on  the  rug  between  me  and  the  chimney  corner,  earnestly 
exclaimed — 

'  Gilbert,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? — why  are  you 
so  changed?  It  is  a  very  indiscreet  question,  I  know,' 
she  hastened  to  add:  'perhaps  a  very  rude  one — don't 
answer  it  if  you  think  so — but  I  hate  mysteries  and  conceal- 
ments.' 

'  I  am  not  changed,  Helen — unfortunately  I  am  as  keen 
and  passionate  as  ever — it  is  not  I,  it  is  circumstances  that 
are  changed.' 

'  What  circumstances  ?     Do  tell  me  ! '     Her  cheek  was 


WILDFELL  HALL  493 

blanched  with  the  very  anguish  of  anxiety — could  it  be  with 
the  fear  that  I  had  rashly  pledged  my  faith  to  another  ? 

1  I'll  tell  you  at  once/  said  I.  '  I  will  confess  that  I  came 
here  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  you  (not  without  some  monitory 
misgivings  at  my  own  presumption,  and  fears  that  I  should 
be  as  little  welcome  as  expected  when  I  came),  but  I  did  not 
know  that  this  estate  was  yours  until  enlightened  on  the 
subject  of  your  inheritance  by  the  conversation  of  two 
fellow-passengers  in  the  last  stage  of  my  journey  ;  and  then 
I  saw  at  once  the  folly  of  the  hopes  I  had  cherished,  and  the 
madness  of  retaining  them  a  moment  longer ;  and  though  I 
alighted  at  your  gates,  I  determined  not  to  enter  within 
them ;  I  lingered  a  few  minutes  to  see  the  place,  but  was 
fully  resolved  to  return  to  M without  seeing  its  mistress.' 

'  And  if  my  aunt  and  I  had  not  been  just  returning  from  our 
morning  drive,  I  should  have  seen  and  heard  no  more  of  you  ? ' 

'  I  thought  it  would  be  better  for  both  that  we  should 
not  meet,'  replied  I,  as  calmly  as  I  could,  but  not  daring  to 
speak  above  my  breath,  from  conscious  inability  to  steady 
my  voice,  and  not  daring  to  look  in  her  face  lest  my  firm- 
ness should  forsake  me  altogether.  '  I  thought  an  interview 
would  only  disturb  your  peace  and  madden  me.  But  I  am 
glad,  now,  of  this  opportunity  of  seeing  you  once  more  and 
knowing  that  you  have  not  forgotten  me,  and  of  assuring 
you  that  I  shall  never  cease  to  remember  you.' 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Mrs.  Huntingdon  moved 
away,  and  stood  in  the  recess  of  the  window.  Did  she 
regard  this  as  an  intimation  that  modesty  alone  prevented 
me  from  asking  her  hand  ?  and  was  she  considering  how  to 
repulse  me  with  the  smallest  injury  to  my  feelings  ?  Before 
I  could  speak  to  relieve  her  from  such  a  perplexity,  she  broke 
the  silence  herself  by  suddenly  turning  towards  me  and 
observing — 

'  You  might  have  had  such  an  opportunity  before — as  far, 
I  mean,  as  regards  assuring  me  of  your  kindly  recollections, 
and  yourself  of  mine,  if  you  had  written  to  me.' 

'  I  would  have  done  so,  but  I  did  not  know  your  address, 


494  THE  TENANT  OF 

and  did  not  like  to  ask  your  brother,  because  I  thought  he 
would  object  to  my  writing  ;  but  this  would  not  have  deterred 
me  for  a  moment,  if  I  could  have  ventured  to  believe  that 
you  expected  to  hear  from  me,  or  even  wasted  a  thought  upon 
your  unhappy  friend ;  but  your  silence  naturally  led  me  to 
conclude  myself  forgotten.' 

'  Did  you  expect  me  to  write  to  you,  then  ? ' 

1  No,  Helen — Mrs.  Huntingdon,'  said  I,  blushing  at  the 
implied  imputation,  '  certainly  not ;  but  if  you  had  sent  me 
a  message  through  your  brother,  or  even  asked  him  about 
me  now  and  then — 

'  I  did  ask  about  you  frequently.  I  was  not  going  to  do 
more,"  continued  she,  smiling,  'so  long  as  you  continued  to 
restrict  yourself  to  a  few  polite  inquiries  about  my  health.' 

'  Your  brother  never  told  me  that  you  had  mentioned  my 
name.' 

'  Did  you  ever  ask  him  ?  ' 

1  No  ;  for  I  saw  he  did  not  wish  to  be  questioned  about 
you,  or  to  afford  the  slightest  encouragement  or  assistance 
to  my  too  obstinate  attachment.'  Helen  did  not  reply.  '  And 
he  was  perfectly  right,'  added  I.  But  she  remained  in 
silence,  looking  out  upon  the  snowy  lawn.  '  Oh,  I  will 
relieve  her  of  my  presence,'  thought  I ;  and  immediately  I 
rose  and  advanced  to  take  leave,  with  a  most  heroic  resolution 
— but  pride  was  at  the  bottom  of  it,  or  it  could  not  have 
carried  me  through. 

'  Are  you  going  already  ? '  said  she,  taking  the  hand  I 
offered,  and  not  immediately  letting  it  go. 

'  Why  should  I  stay  any  longer  ? ' 

'  Wait  till  Arthur  comes,  at  least.' 

Only  too  glad  to  obey,  I  stood  and  leant  against  the 
opposite  side  of  the  window. 

'  You  told  me  you  were  not  changed,'  said  my  companion  : 
'  you  are — very  much  so.' 

'  No,  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  I  only  ought  to  be.' 

'  Do  you  mean  to  maintain  that  you  have  the  same  regard 
for  me  that  you  had  when  last  we  met  ? ' 


WILDFELL  HALL  495 

1 1  have ;  but  it  would  be  wrong  to  talk  of  it  now.' 

'  It  was  wrong  to  talk  of  it  then,  Gilbert ;  it  would  not 
now — unless  to  do  so  would  be  to  violate  the  truth.' 

I  was  too  much  agitated  to  speak ;  but,  without  waiting 
for  an  answer,  she  turned  away  her  glistening  eye  and 
crimson  cheek,  and  threw  up  the  window  and  looked  out, 
whether  to  calm  her  own  excited  feelings,  or  to  relieve  her 
embarrassment,  or  only  to  pluck  that  beautiful  half-blown 
Christmas-rose  that  grew  upon  the  little  shrub  without,  just 
peeping  from  the  snow  that  had  hitherto,  no  doubt,  defended 
it  from  the  frost,  and  was  now  melting  away  in  the  sun. 
Pluck  it,  however,  she  did,  and  having  gently  dashed  the 
glittering  powder  from  its  leaves,  approached  it  to  her  lips 
and  said : 

'  This  rose  is  not  so  fragrant  as  a  summer  flower,  but  it 
has  stood  through  hardships  none  of  them  could  bear :  the 
cold  rain  of  winter  has  sufficed  to  nourish  it,  and  its  faint 
sun  to  warm  it ;  the  bleak  winds  have  not  blanched  it,  or 
broken  its  stem,  and  the  keen  frost  has  not  blighted  it. 
Look,  Gilbert,  it  is  still  fresh  and  blooming  as  a  flower  can 
be,  with  the  cold  snow  even  now  on  its  petals. — Will  you 
have  it  ? ' 

'  I  held  out  my  hand  :  I  dared  not  speak  lest  my  emotion 
should  overmaster  me.  She  laid  the  rose  across  my  palm, 
but  I  scarcely  closed  my  fingers  upon  it,  so  deeply  was  I 
absorbed  in  thinking  what  might  be  the  meaning  of  her 
words,  and  what  I  ought  to  do  or  say  upon  the  occasion ; 
whether  to  give  way  to  my  feelings  or  restrain  them  still. 
Misconstruing  this  hesitation  into  indifference — or  reluctance 
even — to  accept  her  gift,  Helen  suddenly  snatched  it  from 
my  hand,  threw  it  out  on  to  the  snow,  shut  down  the 
window  with  an  emphasis,  and  withdrew  to  the  fire. 

'  Helen,  what  means  this  ? '  I  cried,  electrified  at  this 
startling  change  in  her  demeanour. 

'  You  did  not  understand  my  gift,'  said  she — '  or,  what  is 
worse,  you  despised  it.  I'm  sorry  I  gave  it  you  ;  but  since 
I  did  make  such  a  mistake,  the  only  remedy  I  could  think  of 
was  to  take  it  away.' 


496  THE  TENANT  OP 

'  You  misunderstood  me  cruelly/  I  replied,  and  in  a 
minute  I  had  opened  the  window  again,  leaped  out,  picked 
up  the  flower,  brought  it  in,  and  presented  it  to  her,  imploring 
her  to  give  it  me  again,  and  I  would  keep  it  for  ever  for  her 
sake,  and  prize  it  more  highly  than  anything  in  the  world  I 
possessed. 

'  And  will  this  content  you  ?  '  said  she,  as  she  took  it  in 
her  hand. 

'  It  shall/  I  answered. 

'  There,  then  ;  take  it.' 

I  pressed  it  earnestly  to  my  lips,  and  put  it  in  my  bosom, 
Mrs.  Huntingdon  looking  on  with  a  half-sarcastic  smile. 

'  Now,  are  you  going  ?  '  said  she. 

'  I  will  if — if  I  must.' 

'  You  are  changed/  persisted  she — '  you  are  grown  either 
very  proud  or  very  indifferent.' 

'  I  am  neither,  Helen — Mrs.  Huntingdon.  If  you  could 
see  my  heart — 

'  You  must  be  one, — if  not  both.  And  why  Mrs.  Hun- 
tingdon ? — why  not  Helen,  as  before  ? ' 

'  Helen,  then — dear  Helen  ! '  I  murmured.  I  was  in  an 
agony  of  mingled  love,  hope,  delight,  uncertainty,  and 
suspense. 

1  The  rose  I  gave  you  was  an  emblem  of  my  heart/  said 
she  ;  '  would  you  take  it  away  and  leave  me  here  alone  ? ' 

1  Would  you  give  me  your  hand  too,  if  I  asked  it  ? ' 

'  Have  I  not  said  enough  ? '  she  answered,  with  a  most 
enchanting  smile.  I  snatched  her  hand,  and  would  have 
fervently  kissed  it,  but  suddenly  checked  myself,  and  said, — 

'  But  have  you  considered  the  consequences  ?  ' 

'  Hardly,  I  think,  or  I  should  not  have  offered  myself  to 
one  too  proud  to  take  me,  or  too  indifferent  to  make  his 
affection  outweigh  my  worldly  goods.' 

Stupid  blockhead  that  I  was  ! — I  trembled  to  clasp  her  in 
my  arms,  but  dared  not  believe  in  so  much  joy,  and  yet 
restrained  myself  to  say, — 

'  But  if  you  should  repent !  ' 


WILDFELL  HALL  497 

'  It  would  be  your  fault,'  she  replied  :  '  I  never  shall, 
unless  you  bitterly  disappoint  me.  If  you  have  not  sufficient 
confidence  in  my  affection  to  believe  this,  let  me  alone.' 

'  My  darling  angel — my  own  Helen,'  cried  I,  now 
passionately  kissing  the  hand  I  still  retained,  and  throwing 
my  left  arm  around  her,  '  you  never  shall  repent,  if  it  depend 
on  me  alone.  But  have  you  thought  of  your  aunt  ? '  I 
trembled  for  the  answer,  and  clasped  her  closer  to  my  heart 
in  the  instinctive  dread  of  losing  my  new-found  treasure. 

'  My  aunt  must  not  know  of  it  yet,'  said  she.  '  She 
would  think  it  a  rash,  wild  step,  because  she  could  not 
imagine  how  well  I  know  you ;  but  she  must  know  you 
herself,  and  learn  to  like  you.  You  must  leave  us  now,  after 
lunch,  and  come  again  in  spring,  and  make  a  longer  stay,  and 
cultivate  her  acquaintance,  and  I  know  you  will  like  each 
other.' 

'  And  then  you  will  be  mine,'  said  I,  printing  a  kiss  upon 
her  lips,  and  another,  and  another  ;  for  I  was  as  daring  and 
impetuous  now  as  I  had  been  backward  and  constrained 
before. 

'  No — in  another  year,'  replied  she,  gently  disengaging 
herself  from  my  embrace,  but  still  fondly  clasping  my  hand. 

1  Another  year !     Oh,  Helen,  I  could  not  wait  so  long  ! ' 

'  Where  is  your  fidelity  ? ' 

'I  mean  I  could  not  endure  the  misery  of  so  long  a 
separation.' 

'  It  would  not  be  a  separation  :  we  will  write  every  day  : 
my  spirit  shall  be  always  with  you,  and  sometimes  you  shall 
see  me  with  your  bodily  eye.  I  will  not  be  such  a  hypocrite 
as  to  pretend  that  I  desire  to  wait  so  long  myself,  but  as  my 
marriage  is  to  please  myself  alone,  I  ought  to  consult  my 
friends  about  the  time  of  it.' 

'  Your  friends  will  disapprove.' 

'  They  will  not  greatly  disapprove,  dear  Gilbert,'  said  she, 
earnestly  kissing  my  hand ;  '  they  cannot,  when  they  know 
you,  or,  if  they  could,  they  would  not  be  true  friends — I 
should  not  care  for  their  estrangement.  Now  are  you 


498  THE  TENANT   OF 

satisfied  ? '  She  looked  up  in  my  face  with  a  smile  of 
ineffable  tenderness. 

'  Can  I  be  otherwise,  with  your  love  ?  And  you  do  love 
me,  Helen  ?  '  said  I,  not  doubting  the  fact,  but  wishing  to 
hear  it  confirmed  by  her  own  acknowledgment. 

'  If  you  loved  as  I  do,'  she  earnestly  replied,  '  you  would 
not  have  so  nearly  lost  me — these  scruples  of  false  delicacy 
and  pride  would  never  thus  have  troubled  you — you  would 
have  seen  that  the  greatest  worldly  distinctions  and  dis- 
crepancies of  rank,  birth,  and  fortune  are  as  dust  in  the 
balance  compared  with  the  unity  of  accordant  thoughts 
and  feelings,  and  truly  loving,  sympathising  hearts  and 
souls.' 

1  But  this  is  too  much  happiness,'  said  I,  embracing  her 
again  ;  '  I  have  not  deserved  it,  Helen — I  dare  not  believe  in 
such  felicity :  and  the  longer  I  have  to  wait,  the  greater  will 
be  my  dread  that  something  will  intervene  to  snatch  you 
from  me — and  think,  a  thousand  things  may  happen  in  a 
year ! — I  shall  be  in  one  long  fever  of  restless  terror  and 
impatience  all  the  time.  And  besides,  winter  is  such  a 
dreary  season.' 

'  I  thought  so  too,'  replied  she  gravely  :  '  I  would  not  be 
married  in  winter — in  December,  at  least,'  she  added,  with 
a  shudder — for  in  that  month  had  occurred  both  the  ill-starred 
marriage  that  had  bound  her  to  her  former  husband,  and  the 
terrible  death  that  released  her — '  and  therefore  I  said  another 
year,  in  spring.' 

'  Next  spring  ? ' 

'  No,  no — next  autumn,  perhaps.' 

'  Summer,  then  ? ' 

'  Well,  the  close  of  summer.     There  now  !  be  satisfied.' 

While  she  was  speaking  Arthur  re-entered  the  room — 
good  boy  for  keeping  out  so  long. 

1  Mamma,  I  couldn't  find  the  book  in  either  of  the  places 
you  told  me  to  look  for  it '  (there  was  a  conscious  something 
in  mamma's  smile  that  seemed  to  say, '  No,  dear,  I  knew  you 
could  not '),  '  but  Kachel  got  it  for  me  at  last.  Look,  Mr. 


WILDFELL  HALL  499 

Markham,  a  natural  history,  with  all  kinds  of  birds  and  beasts 
in  it,  and  the  reading  as  nice  as  the  pictures  ! ' 

In  great  good  humour  I  sat  down  to  examine  the  book, 
and  drew  the  little  fellow  between  my  knees.  Had  he  come 
a  minute  before  I  should  have  received  him  less  graciously, 
but  now  I  affectionately  stroked  his  curling  locks,  and  even 
kissed  his  ivory  forehead  :  he  was  my  own  Helen's  son,  and 
therefore  mine ;  and  as  such  I  have  ever  since  regarded  him. 
That  pretty  child  is  now  a  fine  young  man  :  he  has  realised 
his  mother's  brightest  expectations,  and  is  at  present  residing 
in  Grassdale  Manor  with  his  young  wife — the  merry  little 
Helen  Hattersley  of  yore. 

I  had  not  looked  through  half  the  book  before  Mrs.  Max- 
well appeared  to  invite  me  into  the  other  room  to  lunch. 
That  lady's  cool,  distant  manners  rather  chilled  me  at  first ; 
but  I  did  my  best  to  propitiate  her,  and  not  entirely  without 
success,  I  think,  even  in  that  first  short  visit ;  for  when  I 
talked  cheerfully  to  her,  she  gradually  became  more  kind 
and  cordial,  and  when  I  departed  she  bade  me  a  gracious 
adieu,  hoping  ere  long  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  me 
again. 

'  But  you  must  not  go  till  you  have  seen  the  conservatory, 
my  aunt's  winter  garden,'  said  Helen,  as  I  advanced  to  take 
leave  of  her,  with  as  much  philosophy  and  self-command  as 
I  could  summon  to  my  aid. 

I  gladly  availed  myself  of  such  a  respite,  and  followed  her 
into  a  large  and  beautiful  conservatory,  plentifully  furnished 
with  flowers,  considering  the  season — but,  of  course,  I  had 
little  attention  to  spare  for  them.  It  was  not,  however,  for 
any  tender  colloquy  that  my  companion  had  brought  me 
there : — 

1  My  aunt  is  particularly  fond  of  flowers,'  she  observed, 
'  and  she  is  fond  of  Staningley  too :  I  brought  you  here  to 
offer  a  petition  in  her  behalf,  that  this  may  be  her  home  as 
long  as  she  lives,  and — if  it  be  not  our  home  likewise — that 
I  may  often  see  her  and  be  with  her;  for  I  fear  she  will 
be  sorry  to  lose  me;  and  though  she  leads  a  retired  and 


500  THE  TENANT  OF 

contemplative  life,  she  is  apt  to  get  low-spirited  if  left  too 
much  alone.1 

'  By  all  means,  dearest  Helen  ! — do  what  you  will  with  your 
own.  I  should  not  dream  of  wishing  your  aunt  to  leave  the 
place  under  any  circumstances ;  and  we  will  live  either  here 
or  elsewhere  as  you  and  she  may  determine,  and  you  shall 
see  her  as  often  as  you  like.  I  know  she  must  be  pained  to 
part  with  you,  and  I  am  willing  to  make  any  reparation  in 
my  power.  I  love  her  for  your  sake,  and  her  happiness  shall 
be  as  dear  to  me  as  that  of  my  own  mother.' 

1  Thank  you,  darling !  you  shall  have  a  kiss  for  that. 
Good-by.  There  now — there,  Gilbert — let  me  go — here's 
Arthur ;  don't  astonish  his  infantile  brain  with  your  madness.' 
****** 

But  it  is  time  to  bring  my  narrative  to  a  close.  Any  one 
but  you  would  say  I  had  made  it  too  long  already.  But  for 
your  satisfaction  I  will  add  a  few  words  more ;  because  I 
know  you  will  have  a  fellow-feeling  for  the  old  lady,  and  will 
wish  to  know  the  last  of  her  history.  I  did  come  again  in 
spring,  and,  agreeably  to  Helen's  injunctions,  did  my  best 
to  cultivate  her  acquaintance.  She  received  me  very  kindly, 
having  been,  doubtless,  already  prepared  to  think  highly  of 
my  character  by  her  niece's  too  favourable  report.  I  turned 
my  best  side  out,  of  course,  and  we  got  along  marvellously 
well  together.  When  my  ambitious  intentions  were  made 
known  to  her,  she  took  it  more  sensibly  than  I  had  ventured 
to  hope.  Her  only  remark  on  the  subject,  in  my  hearing, 
was — 

'And  so,  Mr.  Markham,  you  are  going  to  rob  me  of  my 
niece,  I  understand.  Well !  I  hope  God  will  prosper  your 
union,  and  make  my  dear  girl  happy  at  last.  Could  she 
have  been  contented  to  remain  single,  I  own  I  should  have 
been  better  satisfied ;  but  if  she  must  marry  again,  I  know  of 
no  one,  now  living  and  of  a  suitable  age,  to  whom  I  would 
more  willingly  resign  her  than  yourself,  or  who  would  be 
more  likely  to  appreciate  her  worth  and  make  her  truly 
happy,  as  far  as  I  can  tell.' 


WILDFELL  HALL  501 

Of  course  I  was  delighted  with  the  compliment,  and  hoped 
to  show  her  that  she  was  not  mistaken  in  her  favourable 
judgment. 

'I  have,  however,  one  request  to  offer/  continued  she. 
'  It  seems  I  am  still  to  look  on  Staningley  as  my  home  :  I 
wish  you  to  make  it  yours  likewise,  for  Helen  is  attached  to 
the  place  and  to  me — as  I  am  to  her.  There  are  painful 
associations  connected  with  Grassdale,  which  she  cannot 
easily  overcome ;  and  I  shall  not  molest  you  with  my 
company  or  interference  here :  I  am  a  very  quiet  person,  and 
shall  keep  my  own  apartments,  and  attend  to  my  own  con- 
cerns, and  only  see  you  now  and  then.' 

Of  course  I  most  readily  consented  to  this  ;  and  we  lived 
in  the  greatest  harmony  with  our  dear  aunt  until  the  day  of 
her  death,  which  melancholy  event  took  place  a  few  years 
after — melancholy,  not  to  herself  (for  it  came  quietly  upon 
her,  and  she  was  glad  to  reach  her  journey's  end),  but  only 
to  the  few  loving  friends  and  grateful  dependents  she  left 
behind. 

To  return,  however,  to  my  own  affairs  :  I  was  married  in 
summer,  on  a  glorious  August  morning.  It  took  the  whole 
eight  months,  and  all  Helen's  kindness  and  goodness  to  boot, 
to  overcome  my  pother's  prejudices  against  my  bride-elect, 
and  to  reconcile  her  to  the  idea  of  my  leaving  Linden  Grange 
and  living  so  far  away.  Yet  she  was  gratified  at  her  son's 
good  fortune  after  all,  and  proudly  attributed  it  all  to  his  own 
superior  merits  and  endowments.  I  bequeathed  the  farm  to 
Fergus,  with  better  hopes  of  its  prosperity  than  I  should  have 
had  a  year  ago  under  similar  circumstances ;  for  he  had  lately 

fallen  in  love  with  the  Vicar  of  L 's  eldest  daughter — a 

lady  whose  superiority  had  roused  his  latent  virtues,  and 
stimulated  him  to  the  most  surprising  exertions,  not  only  to 
gain  her  affection  and  esteem,  and  to  obtain  a  fortune  suffi- 
cient to  aspire  to  her  hand,  but  to  render  himself  worthy  of 
her,  in  his  own  eyes,  as  well  as  in  those  of  her  parents  ;  and 
in  the  end  he  was  successful,  as  you  already  know.  As  for 
myself,  I  need  not  tell  you  how  happily  my  Helen  and  I 


502      THE  TENANT  OF  WILDFELL  HALL 

have  lived  together,  and  how  blessed  we  still  are  in  each 
other's  society,  and  in  the  promising  young  scions  that  art 
growing  up  about  us.  We  are  just  now  looking  forward  to 
the  advent  of  you  and  Eose,  for  the  time  of  your  annual  visit 
draws  nigh,  when  you  must  leave  your  dusty,  smoky,  noisy, 
toiling,  striving  city  for  a  season  of  invigorating  relaxation 
and  social  retirement  with  us. 

Till  then,  farewell, 

GILBERT  MABKHAM. 


STANINOLEY  :  June  10th,  1847. 


THE  END 


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